As If
by Calesvol
Summary: In the year 1530, the isolated country of Iceland is stolen from his home. When he is taken to Istanbul, little does he know that it will create the most profound impact in his life. With love, comes blood. And with blood, lies. What awaits him? Turkey/Iceland
1. Taken

As If

_Taken_

(Warnings: TurkIce, T, AU, historical inaccuracies and inconsistencies, 16th century, possible violence, some reliance on AC...)

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><p>There was something mythical about the weaving ribbons of light cast across the mysterious night sky, their stories splayed across a juvenile face that held a supernatural and ethereal beauty. The lofting umbrage of noble, ancient fir trees spread branches like wings like a dragon deep in thought, resting slightly before ready to be carried away by harsh winds from a distant tundra. On every pinprick of their needles rested soft flakes of snow or thorny embraces of ice, draining the otherworldly beauty of this ancient and beloved spectacle and capturing the light and caging it within crystals of sublime light. Snow all around moved in whispers and spoke in the brief howls of wind, gathering like mist into the air before being driven away in a flurry. The land stretched endlessly into the horizon, met by a sea of fierce and cruel natures, only to be lost by the restive cloak of night. Everything else was consumed in the great dome of the sky, both frightening and wondrous all at once.<p>

The embodiment of the chill and calm of the land sat astride a common Icelandic horse, the creature pawing the frozen earth and fluffy snow with impatience, its master lost in the daze of the night sky. The hardy yet small horse was a common piebald, taken without permission in order to escape.

From what, he wish he knew.

"Calm down, Dagur, we'll return soon. I just want to stay out for a few more minutes," Emil Steilsson, the embodiment of the nation of Iceland, soothed. He hopped to the ground and took in a deep breath of the crisp, slightly frigid air.

He was only a young boy, taking on the appearance of a teenage boy if one scrutinized him closely enough. However, what truly made him stand apart from common rabble was his pure white hair and skin; large, fey violet eyes were set within a square-shaped face, his cheekbones as wide and prominent as his jaws, yet his features were as comely as the most beautiful of women. His eyes were ringed by long and thick lashes, topped by thin, high brows. A pixie nose and plush lips took in fleeting breaths of the cold night air, his skin as aglow as the snow. Emil's body was thin and lithe, but he was stronger than he let on, and centuries older than any other inhabiting his home.

Perhaps his age was why he sought to escape the small village centers inhabited by gruff Norsemen and their equally comparable women. He was unlike most of his people, relating only to the innocuous face of a child, with the mind of an elder who had lived many lifetimes. His people, proud though they were, existed day-by-day and saw no other meaning to life other then grit survival.

It was times like these that he could detach himself from the reality that he was reminded of daily, and could see the world through eyes few in this age seemed to possess. He'd been a native of his lands for centuries now, and, young as he was for a nation, Emil had never set foot on foreign soil.

The aurora began to succumb to the encroaching dawn, splitting the sky in rays of divine light like a tapestry cut through with a sword. The night retreated into the depths of the earth, fleeing into itself as the sun began its glorious ascension into the soft pallet of the early morn. Clouds were ruptured and split by the beams, soft colors cascading through the wheeling sky and setting the clouds aflame with renewed tones and vitality.

Emil urged Dagur into a fast gallop, wisps of snow sent flying into the air in their wake. Soon, they crested a hill and came to a worn path cleaved with the trails of wagon ruts and hoof prints, brown grass as lifeless as decay tugging listlessly in the early winds.

Dagur slowed to a jouncy trot, Emil catching notice of some of the village men going about their business, some fishers readying small watercraft filled with nets, while the village women idly watched on as their brood sprinted to the shore to play with rocks and sand, young women going about their respective duties with equally young men.

Their faces seemed deathly pale, gloom addled into a firm deadpan many of the older ones wore, the children the only source of temporal joy. All had emerged from turf homes buried into the ground, facades of wood or stone the only clue of their existence. Columns of wispy smoke billowed into the air, signs of life from within struggling to stay warm in this particularly harsh winter.

"Emil! Why don't you lay Dagur to his rest and come with me to Grindavík for the day, eh?" a tough masculine voice called out to him from the blue. Emil started as he dismounted Dagur in the village center, leading him by his reins to nearby pasture.

Once Dagur had been properly taken care of, Emil found Steill, the man who had called him, waiting by a wagon at the opposite side of the small village, two larger horses hitched and pawing at the icy ground, snorting mist into the crisp and sharp air.

"Is something amiss in Grindavik?" Emil asked, concern for his people always at the forefront of his mind.

Steill chuckled, offering a hand for support as Emil perched himself on the narrow edge of the wagon, its front having only enough room for its driver. He knelt within the bed of it, grasping the splintered and course wood with cautious hands.

Every few centuries, due to his unnaturally long life, Emil moved from family to family, taking on the name of the family patriarch as per Scandinavian custom. This time around he was the son of Steill, his surname now Steillsson. Such a custom dictated that the child take on the name of their predecessor, usually the father. Had he been female, he would've been Emil Steilldottir. Since he was male and the assumed son of Steill, he was Steillsson. Because of his inheritance to the land, it being his true mother, the Nords of Iceland had devised this custom centuries ago, passing him around to be raised by numerous families until his foster 'father' died and then he'd be passed on again, taking on a new surname, something that brought the family great pride and respect among the Icelanders. Usually they were established families who would bestow upon him every necessity and then some.

"You see, lad, a few whales washed ashore but a night ago and the meat is untainted and ripe for the taking. These whales are exceptionally large, so many are scurrying to Grindavik to take what they can and will from these whales. There's enough meat to last us through the winter, can you believe it? That's why we're going with the wagon; we're going to try and harvest as much meat as the wagon can carry," Steill explained, a crafty glint in his eye.

Emil flushed a rosy pink in excitement, something he always found himself doing involuntarily. "That much?" he gasped in disbelief. His stomach rumbled, a consequence of the harsh winter they'd been suffering through thus far.

"Aye. And I want you to eat as much as you can when we return, Emil. You've sacrificed yourself such that I fear for your condition some nights," Steill confessed, face slightly melancholy as the horses crested a hill, slowly descended to a grassy trough.

Emil averted his eyes when Steill glanced back, voice dropping to a low. "I can't help it. When I see your gaunt faces, my strength and desire for food wanes..."

Steill laughed aloud suddenly, startling the horses who whinnied nervously. "Well, the gods won't allow our bellies to remain empty for long! These whales are a blessing. And tonight, we shall all feast in their honor."

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><p>"Emil, wake up!"<p>

There was a confusion of heat and sound, the young nation finding himself hauled upwards by Steill, almost hefted over a shoulder over the outdoor sounds of shouting and screaming, of clashing swords and fallen cries.

"What's going on?" the boyish nation demanded in a harsh whisper, realizing that it was only Sigrid, Steill's wife, shaking him awake. Her eyes were a tumultuous boil of fear and desperation, her face panicked and still full of shock.

She dragged him up by his wrists, taking him into a corner where they cowered closely together, stroking his hair with trembling hands.

"There are demons outside, Emil! I don't know why they're here, but we must remain inside, else we'll fall into their cursed hands!" she whispered in wild trepidation, their eyes locked together, Emil receiving the brunt of her fear that shock him to his core.

He began to shake, clutching his head as tears bubbled into his eyes, never facing such a calamity in his life.

Smoke suddenly filled the room, hot and scathing to their senses. Emil whirled wildly about the room, the fumigating smoke sourcing from the outside seeping in, poison to their senses as the crackling of fire began permeating through the room, scorching everything flammable within a matter of moments. Furniture splintered from the sudden bombast of heat, woolen materials and organic matter flaring in a raging inferno.

Emil coughed loudly, eyes watering to the point of blindness. He wrenched himself from Sigrid's vice, horrified to find her unconscious from the asphyxiation of smoke, surely on death's door if no escape could be found. He blindly groped his way past burning obstacles, skin becoming scorched and burned, pain blinding him and searing heat deafening him.

He fell to the ground, inching towards the door as breaths came in hacks and pain numbed him to the core. Emil forced himself to stand, bracing all of his being against the fuming wood that burnt through to his skin. Emil let loose a ravaging cry of desperation and feeble strength as he slammed into the door, tackling it with every ounce of being. The door splintered sharply and bore into his skin, wounds splitting through fragile skin and rupturing veins, the smell of blood corrupting the last of his senses.

Everything became translucent as he finally burst through the door, toppling heavily to the frozen earth littered with ash, his senses lost to being and perhaps dying. He struggled for breath, tears cascading down his cheeks in blind fear and sadness at what had just transpired.

"_Benim, ne burada var?_" A strange voice and language drifted into his senses, and Emil felt himself being lifted into a pair of arms, but he couldn't trust his mind. Everything was too lost, too muddled.

In his peripheral vision, lines of women and men were herded like cattle and bound fiercely together, their silhouettes marred by the columns of smoke choking his vision and the sky.

"_Allah bize, bugün mübarek etti_..." A hand touched his cheek, sending shivers down his spine. "_Neredeyse bu Divshirme gidecek değildi diliyorum. Bu tür güzellik Paradise dışında varolmuştur düşünmek için_..."

"Sigrid!" Emil called weakly, tears running down his cheeks. His hand extended towards the house, his body too weak to do anything else.

One of the garishly dressed men stepped into the home and retrieved Sigrid's body, holding a hand above her mouth before tossing her away into a growing mound of burning carcasses.

Emil screamed and flailed wildly, beating against the chest of his captor, a few men poised to beat him senseless as he struggled against their captain. "Let me go!" he screamed again, his eyes lost in darkness as vertigo seized him.

"Please..." he whimpered pathetically, his body becoming numb and limp.

"_O kadının annesi olduğunu düşünüyor gibi görünüyor. O, kendi gibi bir dünya çocuk gibi görünüyor_," the one holding him stated, hefting him up a little higher, his turban becoming somewhat displaced from Emil's frenzied resistance.

Emil gazed imploringly at the one holding him, noticing finally exactly how different they all were. Their faces were wrapped around by long and short beards of a color almost black, their skin running the gamut of darkly tanned to as light as any Nord. They were dressed in elaborately dyed and embroidered clothes, a sharp contrast to his people's simple linens, wool, and animal skins; their heads were crowned with turbans, some more elaborate than others.

Another look around made Emil realize that these men were here for the women, the piles of corpses belonging to men and the children unfortunate enough to have encountered any of the garishly dressed bandits and murderers. Blood pooled and froze, dribbling its way to the sea.

"_Bize bu yeri terk izin, gel. Bu pislik kokusu sarmış." _Emil numbly watched on as his home began to recede, giving way to the forsaken horizon of sea and sky, a fleet of magnificent ships that looked as though they belonged to legends.

"Sigrid, Steill..."

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><p>He spent a great deal of time in the darkness. What had just happened had scarred him, rendered him unwanting of consciousness when he knew he would awaken only to pain, in a place far from home, in the company of his people who had their home stolen from them.<p>

"Wake up, _Izlanda_," a voice urged softly, gently shaking his shoulders.

Emil bolted awake, only to be overcome by vertigo and a painful burning in his body that forced him to surrender back on the bed he'd been occupying.

Blearily, he wrenched his eyes open, only to be met with a dark opaqueness that eventually focused. "Where am I? Who are you?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse and croaking.

His eyes rested upon a man who wasn't Norse, but his fluency in Emil's language immediately piqued his interest. Emil could see that the man had a similar look to the other men, with a beaked nose and blunt, darker features and hair, his clothes much richer than anything he'd ever lain eyes upon before. It made him entertain the notion that maybe he was in the company of a king.

"I see that your eyes hunger for answers. Worry not; answers will come if questions are asked," the man began, seated upon a simple wooden stood, richly carved compared to anything from home. "To begin, I am Abdul Haq and I am captain of the _Olabilir, _the ship which you are now on. You are within my private quarters, away from my men, the crew, and the people we captured."

Emil defensively sat up, anger beginning to flare within his eyes. "What were you doing within my lands? You have no place here...and you murdered my people! As soon as we make port, you'll be hearing from the king of Denmark! Your actions will not go unpunished!"

Abdul considered him for a moment, his countenance deadpanned, before chuckling darkly. "Tell me, boy: what can the king of a small country do against _Devlet-i ʿAliyye-yi ʿosmâniyye_? An empire against a small kingdom! Europe trembles at the word, and they dare not rise against us! Besides, I am of the Barbary Corsairs, and we possess little affiliation for any kingdom except the rule of Sultan Suleyman I, with whom we swear fealty."

Emil's brows furrowed and his face became one now entrenched in worry and confusion. "Suleyman? Sultan? Consairs? I don't understand."

Abdul sighed irately, hand running down his bearded jawline and to the tip of his beard, twining it in his fingers in ponderance. "I should've known that you ignorant _İzlandalılar_ would have little knowledge of the outside world, save for those Danish fools who rule you..."

Emil backed away a little, swallowing nervously. "Where did you learn the Norse tongue? You say yourself that you aren't even Nordic..."

Abdul shifted in his place and smiled with a wicked glint to his eyes. "I'm a slave trader, Izlanda. And I've journeyed many times to Scandinavia for fresh bounty."

Emil dropped his eyes and felt the fire within douse itself with despair and hopelessness. "I see."

"Alas, little _çocuk_, you need not despair entirely. You see, we're in special constraint with the Sultan to deliver all captured _dünya çocukları _to Istanbul, the seat of the empire. You're considered to be the children of God, gifts from Allah, because you are born as the personification of a nation. You _tanrı çocuk _are exalted by people of all faiths, none more so than the true religion, Islam. And, as such, you'll be granted the same status as our own _tanrı çocuk _and learn and live under him. Right now, Allah watches us to ensure that you'll be taken care of, Izlanda. None shall come to harm you," Abdul assured, his expression softening considerably.

"Even if that is true, nothing you can say will ever make recompense for what you've done. Why are you doing this, anyway?"

"We do it in the name of Islam. You're children of Allah, and to take you to the land of the true faith is our duty. We do it so that you may come to love the culture born from the One who created you. It is the will of Allah and as Allah's chosen people we must accede to his divine might and will. _Allah'a hamd olsun_," Abdul finished, rising from his seat and heading to an exquisitely carved desk situated in front of a curved, picturesque window with a panoramic view of the churning sea and the wake of the ship.

The captain flipped open a book, the Qur'an, and gazed at it affectionately before muttering what sounded like a prayer. The man then pulled a rolled prayer mat from a shelf and unfurled it, though not before consulting a compass, then kowtowing completely to the ground in fervent chants. Emil watched on in curiosity, but refrained from asking the man what he was doing out of disdain for him and what he'd done perhaps not even days before.

It continued for a time, Abdul cycling through repeated motions with genuine words of adulation on his lips. It was strangely calming to him, and even slightly alluring. He'd grown up beginning as a pagan, then a Christian in a time that felt recent to him. Even then, it didn't have the vibe that he was resonating with from the man.

He soon forgot about time and laid back against the soft sheets, the memories of the recent past lapsing through his mind, to moments spent in the warmth of his family echoing distantly in his mind. Their sharp blue eyes that pierced through old insecurities were the most reassuring of anyone that he'd ever known, nearly as much as his brother, Norway. He'd seen many beloved to him die in war, famine, and in tragedy. Yet, each time a family was lost to the viscitudes of fate, he felt profound sadness. They were never just people to him; they were family, and a part of his being. It was a kind of sadness only another nation would be able to understand.

"Izlanda, I'm finished. There's something else I need to tell you."

Emil sat up again and cast away the sheets, grudgingly standing and boring his eyes into fathomless dark ones. "You people will never understand the pain of someone like me, will you? I feel pain that you could never imagine each time one of my own dies. You may grieve for a year, but my heart never stops mourning. And now, you're taking me to a land foreign against my will! Tell me, why can't this Allah respect my wishes and leave me and my people be?"

Abdul rose sharply and sternly affronted Emil, seizing him by the straps of his over-tunic and hauling him upwards against a wall, causing the nation to gasp and struggle slightly. "Listen to me, you infidel! Your ignorance can only excuse your blasphemy for so long until Allah turns away from you! Allah is God, your God! By the prophet Muhammad, we've all been taught to tolerate all peoples, for we are equal in the eyes of God! However, you must understand that this is necessary in order for all nations to receive a taste of the truth! We do this because we must! We only want strange peoples to be granted the opportunity to convert to a greater faith for it is Allah's will to expose the truth and let it be as an option for all peoples! Above me is my Sultan, and above us all is Allah! You are no more responsible for this than I am!" Abdul cried in frustration, shaking Emil harshly.

Abdul roughly released Emil who slumped to the floor in a rough heap while he rubbed his temples in order to quell his flaring anger.

"So you're saying...God meant for this to happen?" Emil asked at last, feeling the pinprick of tears in his eyes. "Even their deaths?"

The light of several sconces illuminating his face, its rivulets of sweat beading down it, Abdul replying, "Yes. Allah guides our hands, whether they hold a sword or the body of the beloved dead. Everything that is done is either a trial or boon at Allah's behest. As His people, we must merely decide which paths to take, although some paths must be taken even if we wish to avoid them."

Emil brought his knees to his chest, arms folded with his face buried within them. "I don't care who is responsible. God or man, this shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't be here. None of us should be."

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and bolted to match eyes with the sudden intrusion of Abdul's face. "Allah's will has existed for all eternity, and our fates are writ by His hand. Our destinies have already been decided, and Allah knows where they will lead. Only we can take courage in the knowledge that we have His forgiveness even if our paths are meant to fall into sin."

"I guess...you're right. I just hope that someday I can find it within my heart to forgive you, all of you," Emil conceded, gazing at the Turk in honest. He offered the boy a hand that Emil reluctantly took.

He was hauled to his feet by the man, who went to his desk and sat behind it. "There are some other things which I have yet to mention, Izlanda."

"What is it?" he asked expectantly.

"For the duration of this voyage, from the time of now till we reach Istanbul, I will do everything within my power to teach you the rudiments of our language and culture, and of Islam. Once we reach Istanbul, you will be counted among the ranks of the _Devshirme_ and will be able to rise to precedence within the capital, and even the empire."

Emil looked slightly confused. "Devshirme? What's that?"

Abdul smiled smugly and leaned back leisurely in his seat. "A grand opportunity for Christian boys within the Empire who are collected from their parents to come to the capital and live in the palace as pages, learning Arabic, the language of the Koran; Persian, the language of our poetry and prose; and, of course, Turkish. They also learn history, law, and religion, military strategy, horsemanship, archery, and even a trade. It's an unparalleled honor and promotion is based only on merit, unlike many cadres within your society. I am a product of it, boy. Aside from this, I am the governor of Algiers, my home and the home of most of my men."

"I always thought that things such as that could only be reserved through inheritance or birth. Usually people cannot exceed the life they were born into," Emil considered, reflecting of his life back home.

"Do you see how flawed your kingdoms are? For us _Osmanlı_, a person is much more than what others see them to be. As long as they are the child of Allah, they can change their paths and set for the true course that Allah has waiting for them, so long as they chose to pursue it. In Istanbul, as one example, other religions do not suffer for not acceding to ours. They are allowed to flourish in their own communities and as such, are loyal to the empire because they recognize that the truth lies equality laid forth by the tenants of Islam. I've seen how your societies function; you discriminate against the most simple of things and deter the continuation of an existing culture. We allow for preservation and enhancement while you favor destruction and extermination. This is why our empire has existed for over 300 years and is still flourishing," Abdul explained, setting up an elegant cigar and lighting it to smoke, exhaling a cloud of tobacco that smelled completely exotic to Emil.

"What can I say against you? I was born into a different life, exposed to different presets. True or not, it's hard to contend when I've never even been away on a ship for some distant land," Emil admitted, sitting on the stool Abdul had previously occupied.

"When you've lived in Istanbul long enough, you'll come to see why your idea of society is so wrong and what you can do to change it. This is another reason for us wanting to bring you _tanrı çocuk _to our land, so that you might be able to impart the true ideal for a society upon your people. You'll live and learn to be like us, and we'll show you every facet of our society. Whatever knowledge you seek, we'll provide. You'll discover a land of riches unlike everything you've ever seen," the captain said with a strain of pride in his voice. He inhaled a drag from the cigar, its tip flaring as he did so.

"I've lived in the same place all of my life, since birth, until now. I've never even been to my brother's home, even though they've visited mine. I only know what my home was like, and it never seemed unfair to me. Everyone never seemed unhappy with their circumstances. Sure, life is hard, but no one every really complained. We were all family, who did what they've always done. Their jobs just became tradition, not edicts begrudged by them. It was the same for me, too. I'm good with horses and fishing, but I've never really dreamed to rise beyond my station because I was happy where I was. I guess if you see the wealthy live the way they do, you'd aspire for more. But, no one really knows what that's like. We live pretty much the same, just with some slightly better off than others, but not enough to inflame extreme jealousy," Emil reasoned, teetering back and forth on the stool childishly despite his extreme age.

"I suppose that I understand where you're coming from. It's hard to dream of more when you live a life free from much malcontent."

"There's really no turning back now, is there? I'm going to a place that I can't even imagine..." Emil said with a light tinge of apprehension.

"Well, I'm going to have to my best to ready you before we arrive, isn't that so? It will be long and grueling, lad, but I think you'll be in for an adventure like no other."

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><p>Last thoughts: Emil has no freaking idea.<p>

So, how was the beginning for you? Looking forward to more? I thought about making this a casual add-on to my regular TurkIce anthology, but then decided against it when I realized that this story would end up being much more epic and scope. The gist of this story is that Iceland (Emil) is taken to Istanbul during the peak of the Ottoman Empire (Suleyman the Magnificent's reign, which was considered to be its zenith) in the year 1530, roughly 8 years into Suleyman's reign. Besides learning about a place worlds different from his own, Emil will encounter many problems, some situations even escalating into something so much more. I plan on it being fairly epic, so stay tuned! There's going to be a taboo romance, tension between countries, and a full-blown drama that may threaten the stability of the continent. IZ GONNA BE EH BIG ONE, YEA! Lol

-coughhackchokesdies- Anyway, part of the reason for writing this, besides my rekindled obsession with Hetalia, is my passion in Turkish history. I absolutely love that country, and have wanted to write a story that does this gorgeous country justice. It just feels like a place I've always known, though I've never been there. Another facet is that I wanted to do the faith of Islam a little justice. I know that most of my readership is American, and as I'm sure you know, our media has tried to brainwash us into thinking that Islam is something to be feared and hated, when it's the opposite. I'm not going to say here how I intend to portray Islam; instead, I'll leave that to the story and your own interpretations. Do approach the subject with an open mind, if you please.

All in all, I plan on working and researching for this story as extensively as I can, so stay tuned!

~Peace, G.


	2. Foreign

As If

_Foreign_

(Warnings: TurkIce, T, AU, 16th century Istanbul, historical quirks)

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><p>The strains of the flute had become more beauteous as of late. From the highest reaches of the galleon, he challenged the cry of the gull and the trill of a starling with his music, the wind gladly swirling the melody and flying with it to the heavens. Fingers graced seamlessly over each of his flute's keys, and breath was taken at precisely the exact time. Breezes carried his hair magically into the moonlight, making them sheen with a silver luster. His eyes were quietly closed despite the roiling motion of the ship on restless waves, delicately situated above the flute's head.<p>

The night sky was an interminable tapestry of legends and myths, each star in the sky masquerading as lonely diamonds inset into constellations to share their stories with the world. Their count was innumerable, their brilliance unparalleled. The Milky Way stretched to an opaque band of far off celestial beings across the sky, the pathway that could lead only to paradise. The world was hushed, forever silent in eternal wonder of the resplendent night sky. Darkness blanketed the world, and tonight the moon was new, swallowed by this entrancing creation for but one night as if to silent its protesting light that usually detracted slightly from such a spectacle.

Emil let the cool sea breeze embrace his lithe form, it becoming perceptibly warmer with each passing day. To him, the cool nights felt like summer days, his country never one to experience very long warm seasons.

Already it had been over month since he'd been captured on that fateful night. Everyday he spent long hours with Captain Abdul learning the rudiments of Arabic and Persian, his Turkish reaching a passable level. The man assured him that if he were to stray far in Istanbul, his current level of knowledge of the language would be adequate enough to find his way. Picking up two scripted languages at once was more of a challenge, and for now he was permitted to learn the meanings behind the characters, not quite their original syntax and whatnot.

Although he was assured that his progression was much more promising than the normal pupil, he still felt stagnant, like something was holding him back. It was as if his soul protesting doing any of this.

Emil lowered the whalebone flute from his lips, gazing forlornly at the sky from the crow's nest.

He should be rebelling, doing everything in his power to possibly even mutiny. But, when he first saw the people who'd been kidnapped along with him, he'd been shocked too see how well they'd all been treated. Everyone had the provisions they'd needed, purchasing more supplies after harboring in Tripoli, selling at least half to a wholesaler once there, a place that still shell-shocked him to see. Never before had he seen a settlement so large in his life, and it still brought excited tremblings throughout his being to think about. Captain Abdul assured him that Istanbul would be on a scale unimaginable to the young nation.

"Oi, Emil, why don't you head in for the night? You've been on watch long enough," a crew member called aloft to him, startling Emil from his long reverie of thought.

Emil quickly scrambled a reply in his mind, something he was getting better at each day, although it was still difficult to carry out a satisfactory conversation in some cases. What really made him apprehensive was the fact that the people of Istanbul spoke a higher form of Turkish than the simple mode spoken by common folk like themselves. It seemed that even Abdul was losing some of his edge, having been away from the courts for so long.

"I'm coming down! I'll be there in a moment," Emil tried, wincing when his strong accent marred his speech. It took quite a conscious effort to restrain his accent, but it wasn't as unintelligible as when he first began.

He zipped down the ladder, finding that he felt quite comfortable aboard a large ship such as this, shimmying up the ratlines and even the masts with skill that he didn't even know that he possessed. It came in handy, and it felt good to be of use and not just a privledged burden.

Several rungs from the ground, he leaped off and spiraled slightly, landing without much sound. The crewman shook his head and chuckled as Emil spirited away into the captain's quarters, slipping inside with barely a sound.

Captain Abdul was waiting for him, presiding over an array of maps upon his desk heaped with several complicated calculating apparatuses, a few lanterns casting irregular shadows upon the gnarled floor and richly stained appointments, his eyes eager upon him when the boy-nation entered softly.

'I've very fortunate news for you, boy."

Emil immediately took a seat on a chair before the desk, taking notice of the Algerian man's wide smile and glinting eyes. "We just passed the Balkan peninsula, Izlanda. It will only be another day until we reach the harbors of Istanbul, and pass into the Bosphorous where we'll make landing."

Emil's eyes immediately brightened, and he broke out in a smile of relief. "Only another day? That's perfect!"

The man raised his hands as if to halt the surging happiness Emil was inevitably to feel. "We won't arrive until late at night, which means that we'll stay aboard the ship until morning the day after. Then, the sultan will greet us in person, and then you'll truly be overwhelmed, perhaps in a good way. I know that you'll be unaccustomed to large crowds and such, so I'll be there with you."

"Will they really create such a stir merely because of my arrival?" Emil questioned uneasily, already feeling beads of sweat prickle at the nape of his neck.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. You see, your presence is quite an accomplishment, and the sultan himself feels that finding a nation as far northwest as you as extraordinary and something quite exotic," Abdul explained. "Concerning the day after our arrival, I was told to keep any details confidential, so I can't tell you anything more. I'm sorry, Izlanda."

Emil nodded his head. "It's alright. I just hope that I can handle whatever they're going to have planned."

"Pray to Allah, God, and I'm sure that a safe deliverance will be assured."

* * *

><p>"Alright, I've no time to let yourself be properly availed, boy, but this is the only outfit aboard that would fit you."<p>

From what Emil could gather, the clothes had belonged to another crew member who had died on the journey there, and since all of the crew wore only one outfit per person, he didn't have much of a choice.

The outfit consisted of baggy, low-crotch pants that hung formlessly around him, girdled above the waist with a broad wrapping of several leather waistbands. The top consisted of long sleeves and a high collar, the entire garment colored richly and textured luxuriously. Lastly, he wore boots but no turban, instead wearing a thin head scarf with trailing tails that he worried would flap annoyingly in the wind. And yet, Abdul had told him that this was but the garb of the peasantry. He couldn't imagine what those of the upper echelons wore.

"I wish that you would've let me seen the city as we came in," Emil pouted slightly, calm face belying a swiftly beating heart and clammy palms.

"And spoiled it for you? No, my boy, Istanbul prefers the great light of day to the lonely expanse of night. You would've barely been able to see her," Abdul negated, making fervent last-minute adjustments.

"But we moored hours ago," he protested to the captain.

Abdul poured a few drops of perfumed oil of his hands, rubbing it on Emil's wrists and neck. "We needed to unload the cargo bays of our ships and disperse the crew. Many are Janissaries assigned to this mission who had to change in ceremonial garb, and the there were many additional duties to carry out, blessings to be said...the list goes on, and yet it of things that must be done. You're not being greeted by just the Sultan alone; his court, and even our own _tanrı çocuk _will be here to see you. This is no ordinary presentation, and I must do everything within my power to make you fit to be seen by them and the entire city. The eyes of the city are upon us today."

Last minute touches were added, an amethyst earring in a newly pierced ear, and he was set. Emil soothed his hair before taking in a great gulp of air, swallowing nervously after he exhaled loudly. Abdul merely chuckled as he took hold of the door from the cabin, leading Emil from its stagnant confines and into the great open air of the Bosphorous and Istanbul herself.

Emil was struck dumb by what he saw, paralyzed where he stood as a great, majestic city encompassed him.

The heights of several mosques pierced into the early afternoon sky, such a fantastic swath of blue that it was completely unbelievable at first. Mosques and reclaimed Byzantine churches and myriad towers pierced the sky like a animal set to devour it, or jewels set into a noble crown. Several irregular geometric forms loomed nearby, many a great residence jutting above lesser places. The city rose like a wave to greet him, almost every building in perfect syncopation of the other. Tiled and metallic roofing glanced off sharp rays of the scorching sunlight high above, light embracing every corner of the city in a blanket of warmth that created a strange potpourri within Emil, ranging from admiration to slight fear. Smoke rose above buildings, a haze cloaking the maze of a city beyond the horizon. Vessels smoothly broke the calm of the Bosphorous, it congested with them and many a strange apparatus. Vendors could be heard shouting along its length, some selling fish and other sea life, and whatever else this kingdom could conjure behind his back. The sights, sounds, and the smells; it was too overwhelming for his mind to process properly and so many little details...there were many things that no amount of study in any language could describe.

"Izlanda! Come," Abdul barked, he standing on the gangway situated on the concrete shore, something that dazzled him.

Emil was taken aback by his pomp and ceremony, but he tried his best to appear calm and collected. Instinct told him to lower his eyes and not make eye contact with either the Sultan or their _tanrı çocuk_ out of fear of disrespecting either one.

He gingerly stood behind Abdul, hands clasped and eyes lowered, feeling the tails of his head scarf slipping over his shoulders. As the man descended proudly, Emil followed suit, feeling more and more insecure as each minute passed, each step taken with bated breath.

"_Assalamu Alilkum Wa Rahmatulah Wa Barakatuh_!" Abdul called out suddenly as soon as his feet touched stone, genuflecting as he knelt before a grand party of ornately dressed men, robes and turbans of many stunning shades and colors encompassing them.

Emil said nothing, and instead knelt besides Abdul, hurriedly prostrating himself to the ground, the heated concrete stinging his bare hands.

"_Allah ben üzerine hakim oluyor var bu topraklarda korusun_," Emil said, almost too softly above the din of the city and the milling people on and around the Bosphorous.

"_As-Salāmu `Alaykum_," a new voice broke in, a chorus of the same reply rising from the group surrounding them.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Emil shot up, finding himself hauled upwards by the most richly dressed of all of them, a long vestment trailing to this new man's slippered feet, every inch of the man radiating decadence and power.

"Izlanda, I am immensely honored, but you _tanrı çocuk_ bow to no one," a friendly voice slipped into his ears, inviting green eyes glittering on a light-hearted countenance. It seemed that he was in the midst of the Sultan himself, Suleiman I, said Sultan now hauling him to his feet and warmly embracing him, then firmly shaking his right hand.

"But, I don't wish to be disrespectful—"

"Not at all! You and I, we're friends, and as Allah's people we must be the ones to respectful towards you, for you are His direct, living creations born like Adam, serving the people of nations to act as our guides and the embodiment of all that comprises our countries. Please, call me what you wish," Suleiman urged rather assertively, though it seemed to bode well.

"That is true, but I am not from your lands and therefore I shouldn't—"

"Leave him be, Suleiman. Let him call you whatever splendid titles he can think of. I'm sure he'll learn soon enough."

The crowd of people parted to let in another figure, this one even more mysterious than the city itself. By the massive aura he felt radiating from the newcomer, Emil could sense that they were of the same origin, only this one carried an overbearing aura and will he'd never felt before.

The embodiment of the Ottoman Empire was as grand and mysterious as his city. He was a tall and imposing man dressed in finest silks, wearing baggy crimson pants, a loose cotton top capped at his wrists, almost consuming his hands, wearing a long, red vestment bound by several golden frog clasps. His head was veiled by a head scarf that draped around his neck like a cowl, a black face veil covering half his face. reaching to the bridge of his nose where his eyes and brow were masked by white, his eyes the only visible attribute of his body, piercing gold that struck through his heart and wormed out the secrets of his very soul. Gold thread piping accented every edge of his vestment, a long plume of feathers draping from his crimson and gold-accented turban that tugged lightly in the warm winds of spring. A hefty scimitar was lashed to his waist, his arm resting along its jeweled scabbard, hand curled restively on the pommel.

"Ah, come to join us at last, _Osmâniyye_?" Suleiman greeted teasingly, releasing Emil, letting the boyish nation face the much larger one.

It seemed as if sparks flew as their eyes met.

For reasons indiscernible, the Turkish nation's eyes flew wide, and the hold on his scimitar involuntarily tightened as if he meant to draw it. His eyes stiffly darted every every inch of Emil's body, lingering on his face for the longest of times. Emil felt intimidated, quickly remembering that he too had at least a dagger, hairs on the nape of his neck bristling at the thought of the Turk possibly wishing to engage in battle.

He averted his eyes, trying to hide his fear.

"What is it, _Osmâniyye_?" Suleiman asked, piqued as to why the nation was suddenly so stock still.

The Turk shook his head slightly, then drawing his scimitar with a flourish and training it on Abdul's throat, the man suddenly taken aback by a few steps by the threat.

"_Osmâniyye_, what are you doing?" Suleiman cried, rushing to his nation's side and trying to redirect the aim of his blade, although the Turk was too strong for him.

"They came into port last night, and I saw them unloading people. He engaged in slave trade when he and his men was explicitly ordered not to!" the nation snarled, several Janissaries ready to alleviate the situation if need be. "His journals also told of how his men slaughtered Izlanda's family! He killed the boy's people!"

Emil stood, paralyzed by the older nation's words. Memories of Sigrid and Steill trickled into his mind, they being slaughtered for resisting. Tears pricked hotly into his eyes, and he shot a look of betrayal at Abdul, the man ambivalent to it and instead nonchalantly gazing at the Turk's glinting blade.

"Abdul, is this true?" Suleiman demanded amid the whispers of his man from behind.

Abdul flicked his gaze once to the Sultan, then returning it to the Turk. "As I cannot lie before Allah, yes, that did indeed happen. I went against my contract. And I witnessed the death of his family, doing nothing to stop it. The men who shared in my crimes are still on board." The calm in his eyes was almost too eerie, like the calm before a storm.

"You have betrayed Allah's and our trust, Abdul. You are arrested in the name of Allah for the crimes you have committed," Suleiman ordered gravely, the Janissary guards encircling the man, one fiercely binding his hands with rope while several others dashed up the gangplank to seize the ones hiding within.

"Shoot any if they attempt escape off the flanks," a commanding Janissary ordered before joining his men aboard the galleon.

Before they could take Abdul away, the Turkish nation stopped them in their tracks, standing before them in opposition. "It would be offensive to Izlanda if you merely allow this man to leave pardoned. He is allowed to mete out their fates," the Turk ordered firmly, folding his arms.

Emil regained some composure, his face now muddled with befuddlement. Suleiman saw the boy's confusion and went to his side. "It is _Sharia_, the law of our faith. Although you are not Muslim, and proceedings such as this would usually be turned over to a Christian judge here, this man is Muslim and therefore must be punished according to our laws. He has committed a crime within _qisas, _crimes usually involved with personal injury or death. Because this man orchestrated the unintended capture of your people and the death of your family, as the victim, you will be able to determine their sentences, your _diyya, _the compensation for crimes committed against you. We have more than two witnesses present to his confession, as well as convincing circumstantial evidence against them."

The Janissaries holding Abdul captive shoved him to the ground, prostrated before Emil. The boy felt conflicted, never having to determine the fate of anyone like this before. "I...don't know. He taught me so much before coming here, and I owe it to him that I'm even here. And yet, to think that he deliberated this..."

"You can wish for their execution, recompense in response for them taking your family's lives. Amputation, prison time...anything you can conceive, we will do within our power to enact, Izlanda, so long as it is within our laws," the Turkish nation promised, taking Emil's other side, closing any vulnerabilities. "Remember, you would be here in friendly circumstances had he not gone against our contract."

"My weakness...I can't kill people, even if not by my own hand..." Emil murmured softly, the Ottoman state being the only one that had heard him. Golden eyes narrowed and he scoffed at such weakness, masking the sympathy growing within towards the young nation.

"I think prison would be appropriate. I want to be able to forgive him, maybe someday. Right now I can't. I'm sorry."

Suleiman placed an empathetic hand on Emil's shoulder. "You have a good heart, Izlanda. It's a hard thing to bypass revenge when terrible things happen." He nodded curtly towards the guards, they herding Abdul away and into the throngs of people of Istanbul's heavily packed streets.

'Ah, it seems that in the midst of all of this excitement, I forgot to arrange a horse for our guest," Suleiman proclaimed sheepishly, the men of his court having dispersed long ago, fleeing the commotion caused by Turkiyye and the subsequent arrest of Abdul.

The remaining Janissaries had come on foot, and the only two geldings were pawing at the ground, their reins held by a guard.

"He'll ride with me," the Turk said after a moment of impasse, turning around and collecting the reins of a handsome roan, the horse snorting as he vaulted onto its back.

Suleiman and several other onlookers watched in amusement as the Turk rode up to Emil and scooped him by his waist with one hand, pulling up the boy sit sidesaddle in front of him with relative ease.

"Uh, no, it's fine! I can walk!" Emil protested, his cheeks burning a hotter red despite the scorching sun, embarrassed at being treated like the child he wasn't. He was easily older than anyone in the city!

"As our guest, it would be rude to make you do that. I promise that you'll be provided an adequate mount the next you choose to venture from the palace," Suleiman assured, riding alongside Turkiyye, both having urged their mounts into a steady walk, the Janissary Corps ahead of them shouting declarations of the Sultan's presence and urging the town folk to clear from the streets.

Emil was too distracted to respond, his head roving as he tried to drink in the narrow confines of the streets, of curious onlookers draping themselves from elegant, wrought iron balconies and shuttered windows wide open, the eyes of women and men alike filled with pride at seeing the personification of their nation riding alongside their beloved Sultan. Many shouted Arabic praises, some being verses from the Qur'an, others simply blessing them in the name of Allah. Everyone was splendidly clothed, and Emil felt a twinge of jealously, reflecting on the rampant destitution of his own people.

The buildings themselves were about two stories tall, many with stores inset within as open-air stalls, salespeople dimming their vocal tirade of wares to instead add to the standing ovation towards the most respected beings in the empire, second only to Muhammad and Allah. The sun warmly slanted down sharp, squared buildings and curved around the curvy tile roofs, flowers cascading from window-sill gardens that added to the already exotic airs of Istanbul. The road composed of dusty yet made finely hewn brick, everything vastly different from his icy life back home. The city bespoke of age, yet ever advancing grandeur, making him happy that he could be in a place where he didn't feel so startlingly old.

"I take that you like what you see," the older nation observed with a light chuckle, watching as Emil caught a flower fluttering down, tossed by a young Muslim woman.

Emil flinched, nearly losing the flower. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. I've never been to a country outside my own," he hastily apologized, trying and failing to squelch his growing excitement.

"Don't you know any other nations?" he asked, tugging the horse's reins as they rounded a sharp corner.

"Yes...I'm currently in a Union with Norway and Denmark, the _Gissurarsáttmáli,_" Emil responded, blushing at the thought of his fellow Nords. They said he would be of age fairly soon...and he didn't want to know what they had planned.

"A union? Is that something you European nations enjoy doing?" the Turk asked, the slight snub evident in his words.

"My nation is very unstable, and the chieftains of the larger tribes wanted harmony for once. So, we acceded to the Norwegian king, and then the Danish one. Denmark and Norway are in union as well. If they believed it to be for the better, than they must be right," Emil decided, still unsure of himself even though it'd been almost 300 years since his birth.

"The three of you? And it was done for stability? Perhaps our invitation for you to come here truly was for the best," the man arbitrated.

"They told me that they want me to live with either of them soon. They feel that I can't even make decisions for my countrymen. Even Norway, who is like a brother to me, doesn't want me living on my own for awhile," Emil lamented grudgingly, a clenched fist nearly crushing the small flower he'd captured earlier.

"You must be wondering what the contract detailed, don't you?"

Emil gazed up at the taller man. "I suppose that I have been wondering about that," he admitted, fixing his gaze ahead again.

"We originally charged Abdul with the task of sailing to your lands and seeking you out. The plan was to offer an invitation to visit these lands and to introduce to you the proper way of governance. Travels by other corsairs to Nordic lands were able to shake away the veil of your existence. My Sultan become excited; a land unstable, situated in a remote place, mostly untouched by others. To think, if he could show a remote European nation our own, then that nation could not only discover how they might improve themselves, but also see a side of us untarnished by our ill repute within the mainland. Spreading Islam, our culture, and gaining a fresh perspective for the rest of Europe to witness...that's what he dreams of. You were to be invited here as an honored guest, learn our language and customs, and then return to your home to not only improve yourself, but also spread good word of us and Islam. And yet, Abdul nearly sullied that opportunity through raiding your villages, taking your people, and leaving them to waste. It's by Allah's intervention that this was able to be settled and the truth be made known."

"I just wish that things hadn't happened this way. If things had gone according to your contract, then I've would've come with you without a second thought," Emil sighed, feeling sadness strain his breathing once again.

They rode in silence for a moment, emerging from the tight streets and to a jutting isthmus. Emil hardly seemed to care for the sights now, especially when the replay of Sigrid and Steill's deaths refused to cease.

"What's your given name, boy? Your human name," the Turk asked from out of the blue, sensing the lad's impending sadness.

Emil shook the thoughts away as best he could. "Emil. Emil Steillsson, after my 'father'," Emil replied, eyes lost within the endless expanse of forests breaching civilization from both sides.

"That's a fine name. You may call me Sadik, though it's fully Sadik Adnan. The first sultan named me that when I was a little older than you," Sadik explained, flicking the reins as their steed began a steady trot up the hill they were now cresting, sending small stones skittering away. The dappled shadows of the high umbrage overhead made Emil slightly dizzy, not used to seeing such varieties of trees before in one place.

"This place is beautiful. I'm honored to have met someone as amazing as yourself, Sadik," Emil praised with a light smile, Sadik looking slightly flustered, evident by his wide eyes at the boy's comment. He coughed and tried to regain his composure.

"After we return to the palace, and get you settled, we're going to the Aya Sofia for evening prayers. I-We, would like it if you could come...if the journey hasn't taken too much from you, that is..." Sadik asked with a flush to his face, though Emil couldn't tell through his elaborate coverings.

"Is that really permitted? I'm not Muslim."

"The purpose of your time here is to learn. And this is one of the things necessary to assist with your assimilation," Sadik explained.

"I'm sorry, Sadik. If I make mistakes, please tell me. It's my first time being in another country, and for that first country to be one so different from one that I might be more accustomed to... I'll do my best, I promise," Emil vowed, feeling new conviction rise within.

"You're only a boy, even if you are a nation, you're too young to worry about these things just yet." Emil felt a hand ruffle his hair, and he gazed down, reminded of how Steill and Sigrid were so close to him.

"I wouldn't doubt him, _Osmâniyye. _I've seen his lands, and you must understand that the lives they lead make us seem as babes raised in palaces. They may not have the cities and legacies that we do, but they've a spirit I never knew existed in a people. Allah must bless them," commented a Janissary, having overheard them.

"I didn't ask for your words, knave," Sadik hissed, his eyes narrowing and flinty towards the man. "You will not speak to either of us so long as you are not addressed."

"Sadik, it's okay. He was aboard with on the ship. He helped me perfect my Turkish. His name is Agni, and he was a child of the _Devshirme_," Emil explained, smiling brightly at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man. "Also, I'd like him to act as my guard if I'm ever assigned one."

"Isn't there another you'd prefer, Izlanda? He must have been involved in the raids," Sadik sneered, his disdain for the Nord plain.

Emil sighed. "_Ég held ekki að hann átt við hvers konar skaða, Agni. Ég er viss um að við getum skipt um skoðun hans,_" he laughed, drawing an irate aura from Sadik in two seconds flat.

"_Ég er hræddur um að þú verður að vera einn að gera það, Emil,_" Agni shrugged rather unapologetically.

"He wasn't a part of the raids, Sadik. It wasn't until our first stop in Tunis that I met him, and that was long after I'd been taken. He's a friend," Emil clarified, sighing lightly at the hot-headed Ottoman nation's temper.

Even behind all of his concealment, his slight defeat was made rather evident. "Well, get off if you're so happy to be around a mere _beuluk!_" Sadik scoffed, seeming sure in himself that he wouldn't be defied.

Emil leapt off, casually stretching as if he didn't just upturn a proud nation's pride. "Well, Agni, welcome to the Nords-only guild," he congratulated, smirking up at Sadik. "For your first challenge, you must race me to the front gate."

"Of course, _Ísland_," Agni chuckled, the two then tearing into a jaunty sprint for the gates of _Topkapı Sarayı, _chief residence of all sultans preceding Suleiman, the young sultan's current place of residence.

"The insolence!" Sadik huffed, a brow quirking irately. "He has much to learn, that child!"

"You're too bound by restriction and tradition, Sadik. Why not let him enjoy himself for the time being?" Suleiman suggested after cantering up to the nation's flank, astride a pure white French Charger. "You're a brother one minute, and an overbearing father the next. Why is that?"

Sadik lowered his head. "I don't want to lose him, like I did the others. I tried to take them in like him, but they saw me as naught but an aggressor. He's the first one so far to regard me as something other than a captor."

Suleiman chuckled. "You've only known him for a day. You think too far ahead, Sadik. You need to learn to live in the present, not too far in the past or the future. He's here in different circumstances than the others. Make the most of it, and leave your problems to Allah. His mercy will guide you along the right path," the young man reassured, a brotherly tap to the nation's shoulder.

The older nation simply nodded his head. "I know, I don't rely on Allah enough. I just feel that being created is mercy enough. I'm surrounded by riches and happiness, so why should I ask for more?"

"You're the closest creation to him, near like his prophets and the most divine of beings. If you don't rely on Allah, how can you rely on yourself? If you are still troubled, you can speak with the _mufti. _Although, you may need to wait as we are celebrating the young nation's coming with a feast immediately after sunset and evening prayers."

Sadik smiled wryly beneath his skin-tight face coverings. "I must admit, I can't say that a feast exactly fouls one's mood. As I understand, you desire _that _from me this evening?"

"If only your love of drink and sustenance don't override your love of an audience's attentions," Suleiman laughed. He gazed with far-off focus in his eyes, almost detached as he watched the race between the two Nord boys, Agni almost as youthful as Emil, who looked as if he were a few years older than the Nordic nation.

"I only wish that I could return to that age, Sadik. I only hope that they can enjoy themselves before the weight of the world falls on their shoulders."

Sadik only shook his head and took off in a trot after the two young ones.

* * *

><p>Emil almost came to a stop completely before the gate, the lagging sound of footfalls sounding from behind as Agni strove to catch up. He whirled around and smiled mischievously, not exactly apologetic for winning.<p>

"And to think that a newcomer like you would win against a dog of war like me," Agni panted, laughing through his wheezes. "I suppose it's difficult to defeat the motherland."

Emil blushed. "Motherland? Aren't you from Norway?"

"My mother is Icelandic. She died when I was a boy, so my father took me to live here in the heart of Anatolia. Said he couldn't return to old Norway for some reason. I was called to the _Devshirme_, and my father let me go for he was of failing health and wouldn't be able to raise me for much longer. Regardless of my own personal history, I praise Allah for taking me in His arms when I needed it most," Agni explained, kissing some prayer beads Emil realized were twined around a hand.

"Oh, that's right. All of the Janissaries are former Christians, aren't they? You're made to convert after a certain period of time," Emil highlighted.

Agni collapsed to the ground where he crossed his legs casually, tracing circles in the dust. "You remembered. I should be glad that you recalled my face at all." He spat a hollow laugh, then standing to rise and stretching.

"Do you ever miss them? Would you go back if Norway or my country if given the chance?" Emil asked shyly.

Agni shook his head. "Izlanda, we are born into our lives, and rarely can you escape. When I was living with my father, I couldn't read a word in any language. He couldn't read, and many generations of us have been illiterate. Yet, look at me now. I can read the Holy Texts perfectly, words from the land of Persia entrance me, and I now know four languages. I'm a learned man, Izlanda. Men before Allah are judged equally, whether they are a dark-skinned African or the palest Nord. And even the People of the Book, the _dhimmi_, are allowed free worship while being something other than a certain sect Christian in Europa is a penalty of death by burning. This land demonstrates how the world should be. The Sultan, may Allah forever lead him to peace, doesn't destroy cultures unlike his own. He tolerates and enhances them. A man can be born a slave and die Grand Vizier. Don't you see? Allah brings happiness to those who learn and work hard, while our rulers in Europa punishes all who dare wander outside of their caste. Allah is the same God that we worshiped when we were home, but here is where His truest expression of love for man can be found. Europa has only been a place of corruption and silence since I've come here, and I never intend to return," Agni vowed with passionate conviction.

"I'm still only learning, but it seems as though my brothers and I could learn from an experience like this," Emil surmised. He matched eyes with Agni and the two smiled pleasantly with each other, seeming to be in whole agreement. "Maybe someday we'll all change. Maybe we'll be able to change the world..."

"What are you two talking about? Agni, return to duty and disappear from my sight."

Emil turned to see the Turk slowing from his canter, riding up to his side. Without question he grabbed the younger nation and easily hefted him to sit in front as before, much to Emil's chagrin. "Hey—!"

"You're not entering that palace on foot like a commoner or soldier, _erkek_," Sadik commanded rather roughly, digging his heels into the horse's side as they took off at a canter.

"Well, I'm not doing it like a woman, either, _gamall maður!_" Emil hissed back. "If you don't let me off, I will only speak my native tongue when addressing you._ Í raun má ég byrja nú_."

"Don't make me angry, boy..."

Neither seemed intent on keeping to their word, Emil soon forgetting about their rather humorous exchange as they came to the gate of the magnificent _Topkapı Sarayı_, it being a massively spanning outer curtain wall of white stone topped by a sloping roof of navy glazed tiles. The gate itself consisted of three recessed arches, the median being the tallest, a signet of Arabic calligraphy script mounted beneath a beautiful mural of lavish golden vines flowering with rich detail, framed by the impossibly smooth stone of the arches. Smaller scripts of golden Arabic calligraphy were emblazoned on the smaller of the main arch, almost an invitation to Paradise itself.

"This place is beautiful," Emil breathed, his grudge from earlier dissipated with his breath that was stolen away in wonder.

Sadik chuckled. "This is only the gate, Emil. There's a whole other world waiting for us beyond it." He ruffled Emil's hair again, eliciting a giggle from the boy. Sadik smiled before pressing on, Suleiman and the Janissary guards in their wake.

Sadik suddenly felt the side of Emil's head bump into his chest, the boy resting there. He could sense something was off, but before he could ask, Emil spoke, "I wonder how long it takes for people's souls to be judged. If Sigrid and Steill pass on, I want Heaven to be like this for him. Or Paradise. I'm not sure what waits, but I want so desperately for them to be happy..."

The older man rested his chin on the crown of Emil's head. "They died protecting you, didn't they? I'm sure Allah will look upon them favorably and admit them quickly. Pray for them, tonight. I will show you how. Allah answers His people's prayers in mysterious ways, and He will hear you." Emil nodded, making Sadik blush at their close contact, though it began to feel comfortable very quickly.

As they emerged from the shadows, Emil immediately began to perk up, his eyes alight with youthful wonder once more, tossing his head left and right just to absorb every sight.

They came to the domain of nature, comprising of an endless lawn of emerald grass and trees lined along beautifully mortared stone pathways, leaves filtering through the sun as jade and dappled shadows. The scent of the trees and grass intermingled refreshingly with that of the tang of the sea, a feast for his senses. A ring of buildings of the classical style dotted the landscape intermittently, the most stark being a beautiful mosque, the _Aya İrini_ in all of its magnificent splendor, though in the shadow of the exquisite and timeless _Aya Sofia_. Its roof sloped and curved and slanted, seeming to hold many places within its reddened brick walls. Windows stained to many indeterminable colors glanced away the sun in high rays of light, almost blinding Emil. They passed another simple building of plain build, nothing truly special about it.

The gardens consisted of several tapestries of flowers woven into the weaving grass that cleaved the pathways. Emil was astonished at how groomed and maintained everything was, compared to the wild meadows and untamed wilderness of his home. Leaves fluttered and many birds chirped, making Emil feel strangely unguarded and safe. The high battlements in the distance were new to someone used to living in a place so open to invasion.

"It's quite different from your home, isn't it?" Emil started at the sound of Sadik's voice breaking through his reverie.

He was silent for a moment. "In the summer, I always used to take local village children, depending in which village I was living at, and we would visit the spring meadows on horseback, or I would take them in a wagon all at once. Even though I was born about 300 years ago, simply standing or lying in meadow always brought me such peace." Emil fixed his eyes wherever they wished to wander, suddenly feeling a pang of homesickness.

"Do you long for your home, boy?"

Emil determinedly shook his head. "I've hundreds of years of memories within me. I think being away from it will foster greater appreciation, I suppose," he laughed it off.

"I understand the feeling. When I'm away on military campaigns, I often dream of the minarets of Aya Sofia, the waters of the Marmara, of the grass of the palace courtyards, and the air laden with spices and smoke. When you love your home as much as I do, you find your self missing it greatly if you stray too far from it," Sadik mused, eyes glazed over in the memories. "Soon, very soon, I will take you through this city, and you will come to love it almost as much as I."

Neither seemed intent on dwelling too much in the past, Emil's eyes broadening once again as they came to the gates of the magnificent _Topkapı Sarayı_, the preclusion of the palace itself guarded by two broad, cylindrical towers that sharpened into spires protected by metallic, Prussian blue paneling. Battlements stretched with width of the two towers, walls of whitewashed pale stone marred only slightly by the elements. An arch surrendered slightly into a smaller entrance still easily suitable for a large party such as their own, two elegant, gold-leaf insignias mounted on either side of the entrance way. All around, red clay brick defended the proximity of the palace, the outer curtain seeming imposing to someone who felt as small as Emil.

Their horses loudly clopped on cobbled stone as they proceeded through, echoes ricocheting off narrow walls.

"Well be within the Inner Palace momentarily, Izlanda. I think you'll enjoy yourself here greatly," Suleiman called from behind, voice greatly amplified within the corridor.

He laughed suddenly. "To be honest, we would've dismounted a ways away ago. Ah, well, today is a special occasion; it's the first time we've been been host to a European nation outside of our jurisdiction...one who isn't quite an antagonist. I suppose that will depend on whether or not you drink _rakı_, eh, Izlanda?"

Emil looked confused. "What's that?" he asked, throwing up a glance at Sadik, whom he saw smile broadly beneath his face coverings.

"_Aslan sütü!_ My favorite spirit! I look forward to having some tonight," Sadik laughed, eyes practically simmering in anticipation.

"Alcohol? Isn't that against your faith?" Emil asked dubiously, quirking a brow.

"Yes, I am Muslim, but since we are sacred _dhimmi_, the laws of humans don't always apply to us. While I worship the same as a human Muslim, beings such as ourselves may break minor tenants without penalty. You could never bathe in your life, Izlanda, and while it goes against my faith, you wouldn't be punished for it. However, actions that cross into _qesas _or _hudud _would result in retribution, though it would be different and usually the _mufti _and a _cadi _would be consulted for such things."

Emil smiled teasingly. "Have you ever been punished for anything harsh?"

Sadik gazed away in contemplation, then admitted rather plaintively, "When I was about your age, perhaps slightly older, I committed the sin of adultery with many Muslim women. They locked me in a jail cell for a month with bare necessities and no company."

Emil's eyes widened. "_Með fótinn_, I suppose you deserved that... I'm guessing you never did that again."

"Not at all. It taught me never to consort with Muslim women in that way. Nowadays, I find Christian or Romani women to bed with if ever the need arises." Sadik smirked cockily.

Emil bopped his shoulder. "That's a sin in my faith, too, _öfuguggi_," he scowled for a moment.

Upon reaching an area where the pathway diverged into several other paths, Sadik smoothly dismounted. While Emil figured that he would just slide off, he instead found himself in Sadik's arms by his waist, awkwardly draping him over the Turk's shoulder.

Suleiman laughed upon coming to the sight of them, Emil casting desperate glances at the Sultan. "Help!" he squeaked.

"He must think you're a new Persian rug, Izlanda," the Sultan observed unhelpfully, causing Emil to growl in frustration.

"Put me down!" he commanded, the force lost from his voice due to burning cheeks. "Come on, let me walk!"

"Why? You were giving me trouble earlier. Think of this as a bit of redemption," Sadik replied in sing-song.

Emil sighed and instead forced his weight to the side, throwing off the man's balance to send him hurtling towards the ground in a heap. Emil needed only a few nimble steps to regain his balance, brushing off his clothes smugly, Sadik lying on the ground and sprawled stupidly.

He took to the Sultan's side and folded his arms, smiling lightly. "Don't say that I didn't warn you."

Suleiman dissolved into egregious laughter. "You two make quite a comedic duo! And, Izlanda, that was quite an elegant form. Did anyone ever tell you how beautifully you move?"

Emil blushed modestly. "It was just a fluke," he insisted. Shaking away the Sultan's attentions, Emil went to Sadik and offered him a hand.

Sadik seemed fairly ruffled at what Emil had just pulled, choosing to remain fairly serious while Emil helped to pull him up. Luckily, many of the palace pages and such were far from sight and earshot, making for a fairly quiet atmosphere for them.

"Thank you," Sadik murmured as the younger pulled him steadily forward.

"I apologize for shaming you like that," Emil amended, suddenly becoming fairly shy and flustered.

Sadik seemed a little taken aback, but then his eyes noticeably softened. "It's alright, boy. It isn't really a bad idea to partake in some amusements before a joyous feast. After Suleiman and I pray at Aya Sofia, it will be nice not having to drink your way to good spirits."

"You mean that it's good for you, my friend. Although, I think I may indulge in plenty of _Aryan_ since it's been awhile from the last feast whence I properly enjoyed it last," the Sultan sobered, finally having gained control after his laughing fit.

Suddenly, the distant cries of the Imam from the minarets of Aya Sofia pierced the mild evening air with lyrical phrases of Arabic, no doubt calling the faithful to service for the last of the daily prayers.

"Come, we must leave, Sadik," Suleiman ordered abruptly, hastening to the flank of his horse and mounting the beast, starting off at a trot through to the outer reaches of the palace.

Sadik suddenly came closely on to Emil. "Stay here until we return. You must not leave this courtyard, this exact place. until our return, understand?" he ordered firmly, a dark gloved hand gesturing to the place Emil stood.

Emil withdrew from the man's overpowering presence. "Of course."

With that, a posse of guards at their backs, he watched their retreating backs through the Gate of Felicity. And with them, the only people he trusted in the strange place.

He prayed they wouldn't be long.

* * *

><p>The inner palace really was a much more spectacular place than he'd imagined otherwise.<p>

Surrounding him on three sides were long and high cloisters tucked behind colonnades of marble pillars of rich, gleaming colors with vertically striped stone arches spanning the width between each, creating an appeal like a labyrinth around that stretched to fairly tall heights, creating a boxed-in feeling of security, some pages and guards promenading within their elegant comfort. To his left was a jutting pavilion embraced by a frame of colonnades like the cloistered walkways, though he could see that the walls were different in their seemingly microscopic scale of intricacies, Arabic calligraphy occasionally making itself known amid highly intricate and ornate designs inspired entirely from the organic world, replete with crawling vines and the hanging branches of trees crowned by leaf mosaics. Delectably artful latticed windows denied observance through them, much to Emil's mild disappointment.

"You know, you could probably get in there if you acted feminine enough."

Emil craned his neck to peer at Agni. "What are you talking about?" he demanded in bewilderment, his hands no longer cupping the window in an effort to peer in.

Agni sighed dramatically, looping his arm through Emil's and dragging him beneath the boughs of a shady tree, the nation sounding a disgruntled noise as the young Janissary forced him to sit on the mat of grasses.

"Friend, are you aware of your appearance?"

Emil looked a little dumbfounded. "Agni, I know that I've only been here for less than a day, but I washed myself thoroughly with seawater _and_ followed every rite and ritual of you Muslims to the best of my ability for a month to be clean to my utmost."

"Ah, first off, you were with pirates whose cleanliness is only slightly above you bath-abhorring Europeans—" a cutting glare from Emil "-Anyway, that's not really the point—as you'll learn proper cleaning techniques very soon. Hm, how should I break this to you...?" Agni griped, heads lowered in quasi-dreary thought, hands on Emil's shoulders as if he bore some melancholy news.

He lifted his head and told Emil rather flatly, "Emil, you'd be the most beautiful woman in the city, had you been born female."

Emil paled and sputtered, "You can't be serious! You're fooling me, _heimsk Nord_!"

A plainly obvious blush bloomed on his cheeks. "If that were so...why wasn't I mistaken for a woman, then?" he challenged, completely flustered.

Agni deadpanned in a rather humorous way. "You came to us wearing male clothes. And your voice sounds like a young boy, so not much to mistake in that aspect. ...It may explain why _Osmanlı _was so protective of you," he provocatively smirked.

"_Bjáni_, he's protective because I'm a guest of both himself and the Sultan. That, and we're starting to become friends. Put that imagination of yours to rest..." Emil scoffed with a faint blush to his cheeks.

"I was just teasing you, Emil. You get so flustered, and it reminds me of myself when I was younger. That, and you're fun to poke fun at, getting worked up so easily," Agni chuckled, slapping Emil's back heartily.

"Ugh, I do NOT get worked up so easily! And, for the record, I'm the older one—"

"Izlanda!"

Emil perked to the sound of his country name; or rather, his colony name, he reminded himself bitterly. The Sultan was no where to be seen, though the Turk seemed rather angered.

Agni scrambled to his feet and randomly took post along the wall, fettered to the stone by Sadik's overbearing eyes and aura.

Sadik stomped up to Emil, the boy rising to stand quickly, the older man radiating a palpable level of unchecked irritation. "Didn't I tell you to wait where I told you to? I never said you could wander off with that fool!" Sadik barked harshly, his anger flaring forth.

"The servants were setting up for the feast. I couldn't exactly wait for you from underneath the table, could I?" Emil protested, his voice meek compared to Sadik's, his confidence slipping.

He heard Agni trying to bite back laughter, the human shot a malicious glare from Sadik that then shut him up instantly.

"You could've sat on the lawns and waited, _where I could see you_. Not from outside the Sultan's harem! You're lucky he was not here to shame him!" Sadik railed. "Do you have any idea how forbidden that is? Those women are his family, his wives, and concubines! They are not to be deprived of their privacy by a boy who is not of their family! Has the heathen nature of your lands robbed you of basic decency for so long now? Has your pathetic state as a mere _colony _driven you so low?"

Emil felt himself explode inside, effervescing outwards. "I'm sorry for coming from lands vastly different from your own. I'm sorry that I'm not imbued with the knowledge necessary to convey respect where it's needed. But I will _never _apologize for my history and my origin or my people! You've been blessed to live longer than I and establish yourself to the point of complete luxury. But you went through the same trials I am now, and your people must have been hardly different from my own! I'm not going to apologize for the fact that everyday is complete hell for me back home! I'm not an empire like you and you know it!" Emil cried finally, his anger eroded into tears, the strength of his will failing as memory after memory of every death and failure he'd witnessed within his life overflowed into his mind. He broke into a aimless sprint, too ashamed to dare face the crowd of murmurs rising in curiosity at their guest's sad state.

Agni kept his head respectfully low as he passed the Ottoman by, softly hissing, "I don't care if you are our magnificent nation. You had no right to say that."

With that, he sprinted after Emil, no doubt to console his friend.

Sadik was left behind in shock, pressing a hand to his face as he sighed in frustration.

"What in Allah's name have I done?"

* * *

><p>"I'm afraid I could only get a few pieces. I can't believe that you haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. Well, I think that's enough excitement for one day," Agni huffed, seeming satisfied nonetheless as Emil devoured the few pieces of <em>Lokum<em> he'd managed to acquire from one of the servant girls assisting in the preparation for the lavish feast ready to start at any time, already the sun below the horizon, lingering remnants of colors touching the last of the clouds, a tapestry of night blanketing much of the sky now.

Agni watched the milling crowds of people gathered around the Sultan and Sadik at a respectful distance, the din of their voices barely crossing through the cacophony from the kitchens behind them or the raucous noises of the bugs hidden within their grassy world. Both of them were situated against the walls of the right-most cloister, partially hidden by aristocratic balustrades that provide ample shelter from curious pages and servants. From behind, they could hear a gaggle of activity from the kitchen and its adjoining alley permeating faintly through the coarse stone walls. Emil was sat with his knees gathered to his chest, devouring the Turkish Delight.

Agni had shown Emil earlier the staggering number of smoke stacks and domes, ten of each in number in parallel rows, devoted entirely to one massive kitchen working as a collective body in order to prepare massive amounts of food. Luckily, there were no more than several dozen people attending this feast, small compared to others, but still a grand occasion for a medieval islander like Emil.

"There's an alley behind us; can you hear them? Scurrying like dogs to please their ungrateful masters. They prepare the most gracious food, only to have most of it come back. For people like us, doesn't it just make you mad?"

Emil finished off the last piece of Turkish Delight, still feeling weak in the knees from hunger. "This is only for the royalty. Most empires spoil their rulers, don't they?"

"I guess so. Makes me wish I was rich enough to waste so much food like that so superfluously," Agni scoffed, culling his inner robes for more food, only to come up empty-handed. "Look at that table, though...all that food. And I can't be there to have even a nibble from a crumb in the kitchen."

A eunuch rushed over to them in a flurry of robes, having to peer within the cloister, still looking more decent than Emil despite his honorable status at the banquet. "Ah, master Izlanda! Won't you come and join us?"

Emil stood. "Of course. My apologies," he answered rather sullenly.

After waving a cursory farewell to Agni, Emil half-heartedly followed the quirky eunuch, realizing with a flash of indignation that not only were all the guests staring at him, but he was being especially scrutinized by none other then the rather unpleasant masked menace.

"I apologize for my lateness," Emil fumbled, bowing stiffly towards the colorful, exquisitely dressed throng of people encircling him at the long table.

"Ah, do not worry yourself over it, Izlanda. Those kitchens are hard to resist, especially when you can sneak some food before the meal," Suleiman commented with a pleasant grin on his face, a ring of laughter following suit. Emil could only force a smile that was devastatingly obvious.

The eunuch politely herded him towards the right of the table, Emil realizing with horror that he would be uncomfortably close to Sadik, whom he would be sitting next to. And the spacing was inexorably close, mind you!

Cushions and rugs splashed over the grass underfoot, men and women alike leaning casually on the cushions while some where sitting cross-legged at the table's edge as they awaited Suleiman to lead the blessing. He politely waited for Emil to take his seat, the young Nord bristling away from his current enemy.

"My friends, _as-salamu `alaykum,_" Suleiman began, a chorus of responses following suit, "for we have been delivered an open-mind through Allah. Through his being here, Izlanda will learn of the friendship we wish to establish with not just him, but the whole of Europa. Just as the empires of Europa grow and flourish, so shall we, and I dearly hope that even on the battlefield, we may cross swords with the same ideals, and justly fight for the preservation of ourselves and our beloved Allah, and them for their God, peace be upon Him. May our endeavors be blessed by Allah, and may truth through knowledge spread freely throughout the lands. And so, in celebration, _b-ismi-llāhi r-raḥmāni r-raḥīmi_, let us start this journey with him in camaraderie."

"_Basmala_," everyone but Emil concluded resoundingly, he the only non-Muslim at the table.

As discreetly as he could, he made a small Sign of the Cross and said a table prayer in flurry under his breath, ending it with a last Sign of the Cross. Still, many of the people seemed piqued and gossiped among themselves when he finished.

Emil did his best to ignore them, and instead decided to attend to his famished state. He immediately made a grab for the bounty of bread, vegetables, and fruit piled nearby, too timid to risk trying foods his palette seemed confused about. Still, he ate little, instead whetting his churning stomach with small glasses of raki, his mind becoming delightfully numb after his first glass, dizzy after a second, readily pouring himself a third. Partly through his third, he contented himself with being absorbed with eating some _simit_, a ring of bread that was the only food he recognized.

As Emil was slouched over with his food, he noticed how Sadik was comfortably reclined, the older nation leaning improperly against a cushion with his legs askew, one propped up, only seeing him in his peripheral vision, still too resentful of the Turk to acknowledge him. The man was caught between engaging in conversation with two women who were obviously admirers of his and wolfing down as much food as politely possible as well as drinking rather heavily, Emil noticing with surprise that the black fold that had been veiling his lower face was collapsed against his collar, unveiling his neck and lower face.

Emil so caught up in staring at the once inhuman being that Sadik caught him staring back. Sadik licked a corner of his lips while availing his little challenger, tilting his head back and sizing him up rather arrogantly, a finger holding his chin, Emil noticing that his strong jawline was peppered with a light beard. When he remembered how the Turk had blatantly attacked him earlier, Emil narrowed his eyes and made no attempt to hide his contempt as he bore through the man's ego with flinty eyes simmering with unresolved anger. The older man met his gaze arrogantly, chugging down a glass of his own of _raki_, gaze unwavering.

Emil turned back around, taking small bites of his simit while sadistically imagining Sadik being chased off a steep cliff by his old hunting dogs, the cartoonishly deformed Turk he envisioned then proceeding to have his ego slapped silly out of him by a few very fiendish orcas playing paddle-ball with their tails and using him as the ball. Considering the fact that he couldn't do anything to the blockhead in real life, it was enough to keep him content.

Eventually, he went back to his drinking. Emil realized with a touch of dismay that the people around him were speaking a higher form of Turkish that he could barely understand. As much as the Sultan promised to teach him, it was discouraging that he would excluded moments later through a barrier in language. It was getting more and more difficult to resist the temptation to escape and mooch more Turkish Delight off of Agni, who he saw patrolling the perimeter earlier.

Suddenly, Sadik rose from his place and passed Emil in a breeze of air, the stench of alcohol strong on him, stooping near the Sultan and whispering something in the young man's ear. Suleiman smiled and waved him off, anticipating something from the Turk. Maybe he would disappear for the night, Emil hoped sullenly.

"Are you alright, Izlanda?" the young Muslim woman who'd been speaking with Sadik asked softly, intervening through Emil's self-medicating session.

"I'm not using the right dialect, am I?" Emil deadpanned, head hung as he swirled the opaque liquor, earlier finding that it changed from clear to opaque upon contact with water.

Since everything but her eyes were veiled by exquisite jade cloth, only her eyes really proclaimed her feelings. "You seem to be a little estranged...but, yes, we do use a different dialect. We speak _Fasih Türkçe _while it seems that you were taught only _Kaba Türkçe_, the language of the common folk," she explained with a bit of embarrassment.

Emil sighed. "What about the Sultan?"

"He's a man for the people. He learned the lower dialect and forms before coming to rule."

"Why do you know _Kaba_, then?"

The girl looked thoughtful, seeing that she was sorting the right words together. "I was born in a poor family, but I was chosen as a girl to serve the Sultan...in private affairs. I can't say anything more, I'm sorry."

Emil's mind was shot, and some words slipped out in his native tongue. The girl looked confused, so he tried again. "Where did...red man go?" he slurred, colorful forms blurring his vision. Her nose seemed to wrinkle as his ability slipped even lower, looking as if his colloquialisms might stain her noble airs.

"Ask the Sultan, I suppose... He should return soon. Actually, don't talk to the Sultan. Um, your breath...is very strong..." she pointed out, scrunching her nose again.

"Mmn," Emil responded pathetically, slouching and vindictively taking another sip of the alcohol. The girl didn't return to pursue more conversation, not that he gave a damn.

In a blur of mind, he came to when he realized that the voices had completely ceased. The people across from him peered around before turning completely. Emil lazily gazed ahead, nearly spitting out his alcohol when he realized who it was.

Sadik was poised before them, wearing the same pants and girdle as before, though his chest was completely bare, the black portion of his disguise replaced. He was poised with his arms curved and angled like a character from Arabic script, one foot crossed before the other. On his fingers were _zil_, small finger cymbals.

As if conjured from thin air, a group of eunuchs situated on their own cushions began readying their respective instruments. One held a _tanbur_, a type of long-necked lute, the second an end-blown flute known as a _ney_; the third held a bow poised above their _kemençe, _and the fourth a violin. Because the instrumental quartet was smack-dab behind Emil, he felt a little jarred when he saw Agni squeeze in behind Emil, a hand drum called a _kudüm _in hand.

From his robes, the fellow teen pulled out Emil's flute, which the nation took with a smile. The men nodded at him expectantly to start, so Emil did, sitting next to Agni while a soft prelude weaved a beautiful melody into the air.

Sadik began stilted and jarring movements, moving in rhythm with Emil's slow pace. Emil flicked his eyes to Sadik, seeing the man eying him intensely.

Emil swallowed nervously, rose, and then daintily swerved his way through the irregularly seated people, some reclining while others at the table's edge as he'd been, his passes around them seeming to inspire the spellbinding timbre of his flute-playing. He skirted around the table, then coming to where Sadik was in the infantile stage of his dance, his hips popping with the higher pitches of his flute, body and feet slithering gracefully over the lawn.

Agni suddenly joined in, the coins tapered to the edge of his hand drum jingling sharply, adding to the quick and forceful beats that added a pinch of cacophony to the performance. Emil and Agni would gaze at each other knowingly, their pitches and tempo seeming to be created in perfect syncopation of the other. Soon, their playing and Emil's darting movements became fervent, Sadik's dance becoming sneakily more centered around the boyish nation, then jarring to a halt as Sadik froze to the ground like a coiled snake, eyes boring through Emil's, though the boy decided to play with his closed.

The other instruments started in on it, too, competing with each other like heartbeats as the tempo sped up and the music became more powerful. Emil's flute became like the desperate trilling of bird, often whining and squealing in a way that shouldn't have been beautiful, but was.

As Emil dipped, swerved and occasionally twirled to his passionate flute-playing, Sadik's dance became more powerful and demanding, he sliding before Emil and making his stomach undulate in an alien way, even becoming slightly pushy with his arms and hands as if meaning to capture him. Emil bit back quirky smiles as he easily evaded the supposedly dominant man, imagining himself as fae; neither masculine nor feminine, but rather a being of mischief.

Sadik began to use his arms, large muscles flexing and contracting in serpentine motions as he tried to corral the flutist in embrace-like gesticulations. Here and there, hands tried to curl around a lithe form, only to have Emil resort to complicated acrobatics to flip and leap and fly away. In their dance, he was fire and ice to Sadik's earth and water.

Sadik tried again and again, moving like a side winding snake of the desert in pursuit of his quarry, only to capture the sound of Emil's mischievous, retreating trilling of his flute instead.

The song as a whole began winding down, with final spurts of strength beating through before beginning to dim. Emil and Sadik's dance became tamer, calmer, and more relaxed. But. Emil still was like the spirit of fire, and Sadik wanted to capture him within the ancient bindings of earth and water.

Then the song came to a halt completely, with Emil ending it with a spirited gusto of final, wildly trilling notes, twirling away and then stopping, feet crossed and flute held with an almost seductive daintiness to his lips as the last note was carried out long and beautifully into the night.

Sadik halted as well, standing beside Emil, his chest heaving slightly.

Emil lowered his flute, and then opened his eyes, the events that just transpired finally processing through his mind and passing onto his cheeks as a hot blush of perpetual embarrassment.

He hurriedly passed through the crowd of eager young girls, servant girls who had been allowed to watch the performance, plowing through to fawn over him and Sadik, but Emil politely waved them on, instantly seeking Agni as refuge.

Sadik watched distractedly as Emil and Agni quickly found an escape through the crowd, invisible to the throng he was now mired in. Voices passed soundlessly through his mind, those clamoring closest to him barely above a whisper to him.

"Ah, Osmanlı! That was an amazing performance! Really, you must tell me your secrets after _Fajr _tomorrow morning!" Suleiman called above the clash of voices.

He watched as Emil leaned heavily against the other teen, gait extremely unsteady.

"Is there something wrong, Osmanlı?"

Emil collapsed completely, the faint echoes of the Janissary's laughter pealing through the courtyard as he pulled the Nordic nation back onto being supported by his shoulders, the unconscious young nation using him as a crutch.

"No, nothing at all, Highness."

* * *

><p>Last thoughts: Ah, really long chapter this time...hopefully it was to your liking~<p>

It seems that after Emil's first day within the empire, and it, uh, tuckered him out quite a bit, eh? I suppose that in writing these chapters, my prevalent mission seems to be delivering conveying standard knowledge of the Ottomans, as well as blending in a bit of my own interpretation. My bible for this story is an old book known as "Everyday Life in Ottoman Turkey," and I've realized that I still have a lot of rereading to do and other research to find besides consulting Wikipedia. In terms of cultural inaccuracies, some events in the present storyline (it's 1530 for this story), while they did happen, they happened at different times. For example, the raid upon Iceland didn't happen until 1627, and places such as the Topkapi Palace didn't complete construction until much later (such structures such as the Baghdad Pavilion, to commemorate the conquering of Baghdad in about 1648, obviously over a hundred years later. My rendition of the Topkapi Palace is pretty much complete, and a bit larger (in terms of scale and magnitude, especially compared to AC: Revelations' own rendition).

Okay, on to the casualness! I don't know about you guys, but I think that Emil and Sadik's characterizations are panning out okay so far. I always had in mind the picture of Ottoman!Sadik being kinda a disciplinarian/militant!nation/zealous!dude now and then, but as far as Emil is becoming concerned, he's just an arrogant, cocky, overly self-assured tulip-head~ The attire that I described is Otto!Turk's clothes in canon, and I hope you guys think so, too. Emil is shy and quiet at heart (and a complete uke, teehee), but don't forget that it's canon for him to be passionate like his volcanoes deep down, hence the explosions and random outbursts at times. Also, what do you think of Suleiman's historical cameo? I wanted to kinda emphasize that fact that he's still a young man and not really too serious yet, especially since he's only eight years into his reign (he reigned the longest of any sultan, for about 60 years). Hopefully the OC's thrown in are okay, too. Agni seems to be a bit of a shipper at times (ah, like us TurkIcies are complaining~), while he's really meant to be a friend to Emil, since the masked tulip-head and Icy will probably quarrel here and there (since it doesn't really exist in Himeruya-verse...yet~).

In terms of nicknames, Sadik will be known as 'the Turk,' or Ottoman ('Osmanlı' and/or 'Osmaniyye' in his language, when mentioned in-story), as well as Turkiyye now and then. Of course, Emil will probably come up with a few of his own, since he and Mr. Turk will be at adds throughout the story...though it will sweeten up, promise!

Emil will be called 'Izlanda' by most Turkish people, since most people don't know or don't call the nations their human names out of respect for their status (that's my headcanon speaking, folks). Therefore, Emil will probably only be called his name by friends and other nations.

In terms of story progression, this most definitely will be a long-fic, scenery porn aplenty if I can squeeze it in (that's me for ya). Romance will come later, and the relations between the Emil and the Nords, as well as Sadik and his colonies as well as some of the European nations will definitely be a driving proponent in the story. There will be wars, battles, and adventure, but in terms of romance, no lemons, as I want to keep this story within the 'T'-zone at all times. I've got an anthology if you crave smut, tho...

Alrighty as a little bonus...did you notice that formal name of the Turkish language (Türkçe)? If you add an 'I' be fore the 'c' it becomes TürkIçe! X3

~Peace, G.


	3. Change

As If

_Change_

(Warnings: TurkIce, T, AU, some historical and cultural WTFs, allusions to Turk/Ancient!Greece, time skip)

* * *

><p>Emil tried to awaken himself, but found that it was too painful to do. His head pounded in syncopation with his heart, harshly beating his insides with pain that was too unbearable. His body was on fire, as in someone had lain him on a bed of coals like a fresh roast. Light shed through stain-glass windows of multicolored facets stung his eyes, prompting them to squeeze shut again. With an achy groan, Emil forced himself to lean forwards at the very least.<p>

"So, you're finally awake," a dour voice greeted him, startling Emil.

"Agni?" he intoned blearily, the events of last night puddling together and disorientating him.

"Do I honestly sound like your imbecile friend?"

Realization of the speaker's identity shot through his mind like a shower of icy cold water on a summer's day, shocking him into consciousness. His eyes immediately locked with striking golden ones, a toll of horror sounding through his mind.

With a strangled cry, Emil veered backwards off of the divan he'd been occupying, his head coming into a cruel impact with a centerpiece that seemed to be a table. He hissed back a curse, rocking back and forth as he cradled the searing pain.

Soft chuckling was met like acid to his ears. "Ah, Izlanda, you seem to be of perpetual amusement to me," the man mused, meeting a grudging stare from a very disgruntled and disorientated nation with smugness.

Sadik was seated on the divan Emil had been occupying, it in several sections that connected to form a long one that stretched to the length of the room they were in. The man was only partially clothed, though his face bore the same veiling face and head pieces as before, the garish components nowhere in sight, the turban gone as well. He simply wore a white satin shirt the descended slightly past his collarbone, lightly threaded with thick string to possibly tighten the exposure of skin. He wore the same pants, though his boots were replaced with light slippers. Although, that wasn't what had shocked him.

A pillow has placed over the man's lap, a clear indentation the shape of a head still present. Transfixed on the spot, Emil could only stare at the spot with embarrassment and horror now lacing his features, earning another scoff from the smug Ottoman.

"Don't look at me like that, Emil. I was only supporting you while we slept. At the cost of me being very stiff, that is," Sadik laughed, cricking his neck a few times for emphasis. "I didn't mind, though. Being as drunk as you were, you seemed like one who was ill."

Emil schooled his features into one of calm, standing to fold the blanket that had been awkwardly wrapped around him from his earlier misstep. He laid it neatly on another section of the long divan, ignoring Sadik as he soothed his wrinkled clothes.

"Why so quiet, boy? Why the mute tongue?" Sadik questioned, standing from his place on the divan and heading near Emil, a hand reaching out to touch the boy's arm that was promptly whipped away to deny contact.

"The only things I have to say to you would be offensive," Emil replied with an extremely chilled voice, his back now to Sadik. He grit his teeth as his head kept pounding, throbbing painfully, his throat extremely parched and eyes still smarting from light too bright.

Sadik sighed and folded his arms, leaning to one side. "It's about yesterday, isn't it? With the way you acted towards me yesterday night, that much is obvious."

"What do you mean? I did nothing! You're the one who attacked me!" Emil accused shrilly, stomping up towards Sadik where he confronted the nation, unwilling to hold back.

"Do you think that I like being a colony? What is it about me that bothers you so much? I'm a colony—so what! It seems that everything that I do only serves to irritate you! If I'm such a nuisance, then why, for the love of God, are you here?" Emil burst, enunciating every accusation with a jab of his finger to Sadik's chest, his shorter height certainly making it harder to stand on equal grounds with the taller nation.

Sadik seized his hands with one, gripping them in a painful vice. "Emil, calm down! You're humiliating yourself!" he hissed, his own slight hangover affecting him as well.

"Why should I! You're the reason I'm like this!" Emil railed, staging passionate resilience as he attempted to free himself in vain.

Emil had no time to prepare himself as his feet were whipped from under himself and he was sent plummeting to the ground in a rush, finding that Sadik was quickly repositioning himself, binding the boy's wrists with a hand and using his legs to imprison Emil's, the free hand completely covering his mouth and rendering him truly mute.

"Listen to me, Emil, and listen closely. We're in the Sultan's Harem and if you keep up your little tirade, you will tarnish your standing with the Sultan if you frighten them with your shouting, do you understand?" Sadik hissed in a rush, boring his eyes into Emil's.

Emil's brows furrowed and he tried struggling again, eyes squeezed shut, but nothing he did could free himself.

"Emil!" Sadik boomed, his voice tearing through Emil's mind.

The young nation suddenly gave up, seeing that struggle was getting him nowhere. His body fell limp and he gazed up at Sadik in defeat, the other nation holding that gaze steadily for a few moments before pushing himself upwards, then offering a hand to the grounded boy.

He reluctantly took it, collapsing on it in surrender, head lowered in what seemed to him as shameful defeat. He felt the cushion next to him sink under the weight of a heavier occupant, causing Emil to scoot over a little as if to protect himself.

"Izlanda, I never intended to make myself your enemy. What can I do to win back your favor?" the Turk nearly pleaded, taking down a wall of the boy's defensive stance against him.

"Why did you say that to me yesterday? I know what I am, Sadik. I don't need to be reminded by anyone. It's too painful, especially when being told that by an empire like you," Emil confessed with a hard look to his eyes, sadness locked behind stony walls.

"So, that's what this is about," he figured evenly, shifting his position, resting an arm on the armrest between them.

He was silent for but a moment before speaking again. "Izlanda, the reason I grew angry yesterday wasn't because you were peering into a place you shouldn't have, and it really doesn't have anything to do with your current status. I know that I was wrong, and that I had no right to bring it to light so harshly, but there's another reason altogether, should you be willing to listen to it."

Emil gazed at him sidelong, waiting.

"The time I looked to be about the age of you or Agni was so long ago that I can hardly recall many details from it. However, when I was your age, I met a woman. She was a beautiful, strong, robust woman; perhaps the best I've seen, like the goddess Athena of her pagan lore. She was a nation, born like Adam unto the earth. She was the personification of the great nation of Greece, and was over a thousand years old when we'd first met. And, it was then that I first fell in love," the Turk mused with a detached look in his eyes, staring into oblivion.

"She was already in great decline, and beautiful as she was, every day she was closer to fading away completely. As we don't age like humans, it was hard to tell. But, with the appearance of her successor, a boy, I knew that she was in trouble. In every way I could, I cared for her. We were lovers, and I did all I personally could, but it still wasn't enough..." Sadik trailed off, his voice growing noticeably strained.

"What happened?" Emil's voice broke through the man's sudden trailing off, diffusing his silent melancholy.

"She asked me...to kill her. By my own blade. She said that she wanted to die the death that her kinsmen, by a blade in battle. She forced me to duel with her, for if I didn't, she threatened suicide, which I felt would condemn her to hell should I let her carry through with it. As we fought, I was at my weakest. And yet, she purposefully did everything within her power to make herself open to my strikes. When the last blow rendered her asunder...she was gone. She died in my arms, thanking me for letting her die as her kinsmen had before she passed on." From the barest corner of the eye-opening in his mask, Emil could see a tear trickle down to disappear within the folds of the velveteen black cover masking the lower portion of his face.

Emil was dumbstruck. He recounted what Sadik had told him, reliving those moments as if he'd been the one to strike the old Grecian empire asunder, letting the pain fill his heart. He didn't know what losing a lover was like, but lose of many who'd been dear to him mounted upon his heart, filling it with perhaps the barest inkling of what it had been like to Sadik. He fought back the lump forming in his throat, the wet heat stinging his eyes.

"I... Sadik, I can't say anything. I wish I could console you somehow, but, I can't..." Emil struggled, forcing the sadness to recede, firmly reminding himself that what had happened was long ago and nothing to do with him.

"It's been over 900 years since that day. Emil, the real reason I told you this is because I wanted to explain to you my behavior. Her son, his human name Heracles, had witnessed the killing. When he'd been conquered and taken into my realm, he confronted me, professing a passionate hate burning towards me that had been born the very day he'd seen his mother die. You see, after that had happened, I sought him out and wanted to raise him as my son. And when we'd met for the first time, it was when he declared his hate. Accused me of murder when his mother had wished for it. He was too young to really remember, and saw it only as murder."

"And it lingers on to this day?" Emil questioned.

"Yes."

"How does that relate to me?" Emil timidly asked, gathering his knees to his chest and hugging them.

"I had every intention of becoming your friend, Emil. However, upon learning the circumstances before your coming, I became enraged. I instantly took it as a second chance from Allah to redeem myself for the good I failed to do for Heracles. You, who'd had the ones closest to you murdered, seemed like a reincarnation of the circumstances that Heracles had witnessed at an age closer to yours and I knew what I would need to do to atone for my sins. You are my only hope of absolution, Emil. That is why I was so harsh towards you yesterday," Sadik explained, reconfiguring himself slightly as he shifted position.

"Even if you think that's true, I'm not going to become like a son to you, Sadik. I have a mission of my own to better myself and become a true nation, and I refuse to play subordinate if it's avoidable. If learning from you makes you see me as a son, so be it. But remember that at the end of the day, I'm here to gain wisdom and build friendships, not become someone lesser than what I must be. What happened to Heracles shouldn't happen ever again, but you shouldn't let your intent cloud our relationship," Emil told him firmly, the sadness wiped away from his features.

Sadik smiled, a hand reaching out to scruff the small boy's hair affectionately. "I'm glad that you understand, Emil."

"I'm your friend, Sadik. Of course I want to understand," Emil murmured. "Just a few more questions, though."

"Anything," Sadik responded warmly, his eyes completely free of their earlier pain and melancholy.

"Why do you keep your face so covered?"

Sadik seemed a little taken aback, then straightened and searched for the right words. "I came up with the tradition after Heracles's mother died. At first I intended to wear it until I was done mourning her, but then I decided to make it tradition, a reminder of my grievances. The first Sultan devised the convoluted legend that revealing my face would cause common men and women to be cursed should they see it, as an exaggeration of my divinity, though I partially reveal myself when doing things such as eating. However, the mask... I swore that I would never remove my mask, nor let it be removed, unless I truly came to love another as I had her. Until that day, so it shall remain."

"It's to remind yourself every day, isn't it?" Emil commented, smiling lightly. "Um, I still have another question..."

"What is it, boy?"

Emil looked slightly uncomfortable, slightly fidgeting. "I'm starting to remember the dance we performed last night..."

"I think I already know what you're asking. The style of dance you saw was called belly-dancing. It's something I picked up from other Arabic territories after Heracles's mother's death when channeling my sadness into battle wasn't enough. Feminine it is, but it reminded me so much of her that I learned it and dance it as a memorial to her whenever the urge arises strongly."

Emil still looked unsatisfied, his eyes pressing the older nation to speak further.

Sadik's skin was flushed red as he continued. "Ah, I see. I really didn't think that you would join me, as your flute-playing was entrancing enough, but when you did... You see..." he trailed off, coughing distractedly "...the way you move, I've never seen it before in my life, and it made me want to...compliment it." The man seemed to be hiding something, but Emil didn't press further, too dense to pick up on it. He just assumed that the man didn't like to be challenged and that, in doing so, he'd forced the Ottoman to compete against someone that made him have to work harder to dance as good as he'd wanted the audience to believe.

Emil giggled to himself. "I get it. You're just embarrassed that you're not the only out there that knows how to move and do acrobatics and the like. Don't worry; dancing isn't really my thing. I'm glad that you think I'm on par with you, though."

Sadik coughed again, the burn now taking a slight edge off his skin. "Is that what you think—Haha! Of course. I was just surprised, that's all. That's all..." he trailed off nervously, swallowing thickly. Thank Allah the boy was so thick-minded.

They were silent for a moment, their quiet company interrupted by another eunuch who intruded upon their brief peace. "Excuse me, masters... Master Osmaniyye, the Chief Mother requests your presence. Her Grace wishes to ask something of you. I was told that she wouldn't keep you."

"Of course. I'll come in due time. You are dismissed," Sadik amended with a wave of his hand, the eunuch then bowing and leaving the room in a rush of robes.

He stood, then stretching his arms. "Emil, I'll be right back. Please remain here, if possible," the man ordered, reminding Emil of their conversation and now mutual understanding.

As Sadik left the room, Emil couldn't help but admire the room now that Sadik was gone.

It was large, to say the least, with enough room to easily hold a dozen people comfortably. Deeply recessed, stain-glassed windows at eye level were so complex and traversed by opulent design that it was impossible to peer from them adequately, the thin wire frames that held each piece of colorful glass so artistically spun and molded that it almost wasn't a window, but an exquisitely detailed painting. Each window was at eye level, there being five at the fore and two off to each side. A repeat of the window scheme was mired above as well, they casting fetching colors of a darker palette while the lower ones contained neutral colors. The row of divans he was seated upon spanned the length of room, cleaved in half on the sides. A raised platform that the divans rested upon were lavishly stained by the rich Persian rugs underfoot, a precipice leveling on more solid ground where tiled ground ran into elegant ground moldings of carefully selected design. The room could've easily been misconstrued as a double-story bedroom, a strip of pronounced golf-leaf, Arabic calligraphy framed by blue encompassing the room. The ceiling spun off into a vaulted one, painted by artisans whose level of intricacy competed on even ground with Allah Himself, the walls impossibly detailed with rich designs of organic inspiration. The room glowed in the colorful beams of light pooling on the floors and walls, weaving scales of color like water, making it seem as if he were within a richly lined treasure chest, and not merely a room.

He found that studying the details of the room to act as a necessary distraction while he waited for Sadik, eyes roving over whatever he could and inventing nonsensical games which further proved to make him oblivious to the lag of time.

Sadik entered the room again after what felt like ages, Emil starting when the man had interrupted his record attempt at finding mythical beasts entwined between the painted frescoes of the walls. His eyes were graven, which immediately rocketed the boy's heart into apprehension.

"What is it?" he asked directly, brows furrowed and eyes urgent as the Turk stood before him.

"I've just received word from the Lady Haseki, Suleiman's queen, that the Sultan left this afternoon on campaign in Baghdad...and that he requests that I join him immediately."

Time simply seemed to stop. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, the smallest sounds amplified greatly, nausea brewing sickly within his stomach. He swallowed thickly once, working up a meager smile.

"Then you should be with him. I'm sure he'll need your expertise on the battlefield," Emil said finally, masking his disappointment.

"The Lady Haseki also told me that you will lodge here for the remainder of your stay, and that you've received express permission to travel the palace and city as you please. Also, he wanted you to have this," Sadik leaned over and swiftly dropped a gold necklace from his hand, it just barely suspended from his fingers, twirling lightly from the inertia. "It's his personal signet with his _tughra _embossed upon it. Only he and I possess them, and it will allow anyone to acknowledge who you are and grant you access to wherever you wish, and will allow you to take what you need from any vendor within the city, so provisions shouldn't be a problem if you wish to wander the city for long strays of time." As he gently lowered it into Emil's hand, lingering for too long as their fingers touched, then withdrawing quickly when he realized what he was doing.

"Sadik, are you alright?"

The man in question started, but then calmed. "I was just thinking about the campaign we'll be starting. There's so much to take into consideration."

"I'm sure that the eunuchs or whomever serves under you will have all the arrangements taken care of," Emil reassured, smiling.

"Emil..." an uncertain voice broke.

"Sadik—"

"Master Osmaniyye, you have no time to wait. I'm sorry, but His Highness stressed the importance of you leaving now. I'm afraid that he seemed especially urgent," the eunuch urged, the tonality of his voice clearly conveying his words.

"I'll be there in a moment! Can't you at least let me bid farewell to Izlanda?" Sadik raged, hands clenching into fists as he glowered dangerously at the man.

The eunuch fumbled into a deep bow, then fleeing the room.

Emil stood before him, folding his arms, face slightly annoyed at the older man's outburst. "Hey, you know that wasn't necessary. I'm sure he would've left if—"

He was suddenly pulled forward very quickly into a pair of arms, holding him very close, cloth cascading around him. Emil's nose was buried in rich textiles, the musk and incense and the smell of flowers... He felt so warm and safe...

"I don't know when I will return, Emil. I can never say how long wars takes. I can't leave you if it could mean never seeing you again. You're the first person to ever allow me to be honest with myself in a long time..."

Emil wanted to speak, but he just didn't want to this to end. For the first time in a long time, he felt the first true warmth from within this strange land. Here he was with the first friend he'd ever made outside his borders. And to have him suddenly leave scared him.

And yet, he pulled back, freeing himself from the man's embrace. "It won't be good-bye forever, Sadik. You'll come back. You have to; otherwise, who's going to teach me the things I need to know? Even if this military campaign is long, what's a few months or even years? We're nations, Sadik. Time marches differently for us. Just go and fight your heart out for your kinsmen. Everything is going to be fine," Emil smiled warmly, this time being the one to ruffle Sadik's hair, though he only felt the cloth perpetually disguising the man.

Sadik straightened himself out. "Yes, of course. I promise to return with wondrous stories, Emil. I promise to return..." he faltered, then shaking his head. "No, I will return."

"That's it," Emil praised. "Good-bye, Sadik. May Allah guard you, always."

"_Hayatımın olarak, Allah sizin korumak_," Sadik replied softly, a lingering gaze set on Emil until he forced himself to leave, disappearing from the younger's sight.

If only he knew how long it truly would take.

* * *

><p>"Emil! Are you heading to the library again?"<p>

Before he was given the chance to reply, Emil was slammed into by Agni, nearly displacing the young boy of the scrolls he'd been on his way to returning.

"Hey, watch it!" Emil cried, trying and failing to stifle his laughter, Agni joining in until their combined joy pealed throughout the quiet evening grounds. They crossed over the expansive lawns together, making a beeline for the library.

The library itself was a beautiful place, hewn from whitewash marble, both he and Agni skirting around the strip of gardens and the small, bare cypresses tugging in the wind, ascending one of two opposite flights of stairs to come at the entrance beneath a high portico supported by a single row of columns. The roof consisted of three vaulted ceilings therein, denoting the three separate reading rooms. There was an upper and lower set of windows, the lower shielded by metal-worked lattice screens, the upper free of those constraints to taper into a curved point. A central dome, the largest, was crowned with a gilded brass spire tipped with the crescent moon of Islam.

Pushing through the door, Emil led Agni to his favorite reading room off to the right, one seldom occupied if others saw him present. Like many of the rooms present within the palace, the room was large yet felt comfortable. The floors were of a plain yet clean beige tile, a raised platform the ringed the room, mounted by pristine white divans without armrests of which Agni immediately claimed. The walls were always divided, the lower half being plainer then the top. Shelved framed by lacquered wood were burdened with European tomes and Arabic scrolls alike, those shelves decorated by the many glazed tiles glittering on the walls, white and blue dominate in their beautiful flowering designs. Several recessed panels perpendicular to the upper tapered windows were shuttered closed, those shutters threaded with a geometric maze of gold leaf on white, providing privacy and sanctuary from the sun on bright days. Only a pair remained open, letting in hints of light that shed through to lighten the dreary day. The stained glass windows above were considerably simpler than those of the harem, but were still tasteful. The vaulted ceiling above was bordered by an encompassing design of myriad veins of gold weaving tightly together like embroidery on cloth, stems of feathering gold reaching up, tipped by designs reminiscent of peacock feathers that reached to a point where a ring of tightly wound gold sprayed intricate detail at the zenith of the ceiling.

Emil neatly stacked the tomes and scrolls he'd borrowed from the week before, making sure everything was in its place before taking a seat next to Agni who seemed loathe of activity for that day, having lightly dozed off.

He soothed his long, short-sleeved kaftan which he wore over a long-sleeved tunic and gaucho-like pants, they flowing loosely around his knee-high boots, the only earthen color to his completely whitened color scheme, something the Sultan Mother, Suleiman's mother, had devised such identification through whitewash clothes for him years ago.

"Hey, Emil, do you realize how long it's been since you came here? I'm twenty-seven now, can you believe it? It's already been ten years," Agni marveled, casually crossing a leg and propping his arms on the back on the divan they were seated on.

Emil almost gasped, but restrained himself, the passage of so much time an astonishment to him.

It'd been a decade since he'd come to Istanbul, and a decade since he'd seen Sadik. His heart clenched at the thought of the older nation lost to the virulent claws of war, trying, praying,every single day to make himself believe that the man would come back, even if the chance might not come.

He swallowed, hands tightening around the large leather-bound book of art he'd meant to study that day with Selim the Second, Suleiman's son who was already an astonishing sixteen year old man. He knew that time passed quickly for nations, but he had no idea until now.

"I guess I just never really paid attention," Emil admitted. The rattling of impending winter winds against the windows seemed to remind him of that fact. For too long, he'd shut himself away within the confines of the palace, being almost too diligent to the promise he'd made with Sadik ten years ago. He only ever ventured outside the Inner Palace to practice hunting or brawling with Agni. Not even Agni, having been promoted to Guard of the Sacred Dhimmi, got out much anymore due to his close ties with his ward. In fact, Emil hadn't set foot outside the entire periphery of the palace since coming ten years ago.

"You know, in another ten years or more, you could probably pass for my son," Agni joked, slapping Emil's back, the boy flinching with each one.

Emil grew quiet, the air around him suddenly mired in gloom. "An in a hundred, you'll be dead," he stated listlessly, fingers haplessly stroking the leather cover of the art book he held in his hands.

"Hey, Emil, are you alright? You've been acting weirdly since it started getting colder," Agni mentioned with concern, leaning over to cautiously inspect his friend.

"I'm sorry, Agni. I shouldn't have said that. I'm so sorry," Emil whispered, turning away and gathering his knees to his chest, setting the book aside before burying his face in his knees.

"You miss that tulip-head, don't you?" Agni figured sympathetically, using the codename he and Emil had come up for Sadik out of humor that stuck.

"He was like family to me, Agni. Maybe it was too soon to tell, but after I lost Steill, he instantly became like an older brother to me," Emil admitted quietly, lifting his head to rest against the cool tile wall, eyes meandering over the maddeningly intricate designs. "I'm still trying to hold true to his promise. I'm not leaving the palace until he comes back and takes me on a tour of the city."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Emil. I think holding fast to a promise is the most noble of things friends can do for each other," Agni smiled, circling his arm around Emil, taking the boyish nation into his side as if they were brothers.

* * *

><p>"You're leaving?" Emil asked of his friend, watching as the man stood to take his leave.<p>

He and the Sultan's son, sixteen year old Selim the Second, were studying together within the library, pouring over tomes of books piled next to each other on the divans they were perched on, slouching over in concentration. Because they young prince was seldom left alone, several Janissary guards were posted at the fore of the room and in the alcove that separated it from the main body of the library.

Agni went about tightening and correcting various parts of his uniform, finally lashing his dagger more tightly within the bands of his girdle. "Today is Wednesday. Besides me, there aren't many other senior officers competent enough to carry out this duty. Our A_gha _has been on campaign for the last ten years, along with the Sultan and _Osmaniye_. The Grand Vizier, as he is Chief Inspector, is grossly inundated with civil affairs and can't make his rounds today. All of our good men are at war, and there's nothing but trainees left in the city. So, I'll be heading over to the _Kapalı Çarşı,_ one of our largest covered markets, and inspecting every vendors and salesman thoroughly. Ha, I'm in for a long day..."

"Well, have fun. Izlanda and I will be here when you return," Selim dismissed offhandedly, the boy also having made friends with Agni over studying with the young nation over the years. He smiled through the thick tome he was studiously reading.

"Actually, Selim, I was wondering if I might join Agni today," Emil decided, slowly setting aside the book he was reading and giving Agni a mischievous eye.

Selim looked slightly crestfallen. "I don't have anyone else to study with. It's boring if I'm alone," he complained.

"I've never seen the city before. Just this once, can I go with him?" Emil begged, a smile fetching his face along with hopeful eyes.

"Ah, come on, Izlanda. I've never been outside the palace and you don't see me complaining. ...Much," he quipped.

"I'm supposed to learn about your society, aren't I? Isn't it your duty to let me do so?" Emil teased, crossing his arms and smiling cutely.

"Alright. But afterwords, I'm going to make you my wife," Selim cracked, causing all of them to burst into laughter.

Emil stood, after sobering from the outburst, looking slightly perturbed. "It's kind of chilly today. This will be too cold," he remarked on his clothes.

Selim barked out a name, which caused a eunuch to come running. "Yes, your Highness?" the man carefully inquired, bowing deeply and keeping his eyes to the ground.

"Cloth my friend. He wishes to venture into the city, but he isn't properly dressed. Bring him something that he owns," Selim ordered, then shooing the man, the eunuch then making haste to fulfill the prince's order.

"I could've taken care of that myself, Selim," Emil abdicated.

"Nonsense. My friend, ten years doesn't seem to have taught you well what favored life incurs. If you want something done, have someone else do it. It's true that you're a guest, but before that you're _kutsal olmak _and need to be treated as such," Selim explained, idly flipping a page in his book.

"I know, but I'm still not used to palace life, to be honest," Emil admitted sheepishly.

"Well, whether he's used to it or not doesn't really matter, right? All that matters is that he's here," Agni said proudly, smiling at Emil.

"Excuse me, masters, but I've brought Izlanda's things," the eunuch announced, holding a small package of clothing. "Her Majesty saw me and asked to bequeath this upon you, Izlanda."

Emil carefully took the package carefully into his hands, seeing that it was indeed clothing, but not anything of his.

"Open it, Izlanda. If it's from mother then it must be something you'll truly like," Selim urged, looking almost as if he wanted to tear away the light cloth concealing the clothes.

Emil nodded and sat near Selim on the divan, Agni looking on as he carefully untethered the satin cords. Immediately he could see that it was the same type of clothes that he wore, only heavier and much more exquisite. The _kaftan, _an a long overcoat with wide and loose sleeves, was made of rich white silk lined with pure white sheep's wool. The back of it was an ornate tapestry of design with a great, snowy owl extending large wings across the upper back, the tips of the wings extending to the tips of the sleeves' start. The owl was crafted from sequins and beads and stamped gold leaf, every detail highly crafted. Below the owl was wavy blue patterns that denoted the cool tides of an icy sea, below that the roiling white of clouds that seemed to be instead a snowy shore. The sleeves were embossed with tightly trickling beads of turquoise that piled greatly at the cuffs and descended from the top. It was trimmed with white fur at every orifice and edge, making for a warm ensemble. The pants were blue gauchos of rich satin, and the top was the same as the one he currently wore, though this was of better material with gold frog clasps. It seemed that every space of the fabric was occupied by intricate bead work in some form from Nordic legends, which made a pang of homesickness crawl into his heart.

As accessories, there was a blue sapphire earring as well as a thick band of blackened leather that was properly outfitted to be able to provide for a variety of apparatus to hang from it. Black leather knee-high boots were presented as well, thinner leather strips connected to a pair of fingerless gloves no doubt used to keep the wide, triangular sleeves of both the _kaftan _and the undershirt from getting in the way should he ever have to engage in battle.

"My mother was indeed generous with you this time, Izlanda. This gift shouldn't be taken lightly. It means that she sees you as family. You are no longer simply a guest or a student; you are a son," Selim explained, admiring the handiwork with a smile.

"I feel like I shouldn't accept this. How on earth will I thank her?"

"Uh, you could..." Agni tried, faltering and then failing.

Selim patted his shoulder. "We'll think of something when you return. Why don't you change? We'll help you get outfitted properly afterwords."

Everyone but Emil was left in the room, two guards attending to the doorway, leaving him in complete privacy. He quickly stripped down to his underwear, removing everything, then quickly changing into the new outfit. He immediately noticed that the material was much warmer and of a higher quality than his previous outfit, which was gratifying considering the faint chill in the air outside.

"Ah, you look magnificent!" Agni praised, playfully turning Emil in circles, making him dizzy fairly quickly.

"You look quite the part of a nobleman, if only your higher Turkish was up to par," Selim snickered, making a grab for the fingerless gloves waiting on the couch.

He shooed Agni away and took an arm, handing off the other to Agni, they both pulling the gloves on him. The sleeves were soon bound by the adjoining leather straps, followed by the leather belt that was suddenly tightened around his waist.

"Your swords were brought as well, from your homeland," Agni noted, handing off two sheathed swords of decent length and make to Emil.

"I haven't seen these in ages," Emil exclaimed excitedly, unsheathing one and twirling it one in hand. "They've been well cared for."

"They must have been stored within the armory for some time. Well, all that matters if that you'll be able to defend yourself with familiar arms now," Selim noted, watching on as Emil took the leather bands of the scabbards and lashed them to his belt. As an extra provision, he took the straps of his boots and wound them just above his knees, also securing his billowing pants in place.

"It's definitely not an outfit I've ever seen before on any man, but it suits you. Then again, you're not just any person for that matter." Selim walked around Emil, studying every angle of the outfit, liking what he saw.

"Well, now that you're all outfitted, why don't we head on to the Grand Bazaar? I'm sure that you're excited to see that," Agni teased with a glint in his eye.

"I'm ready whenever you are," Emil affirmed, glowing with excitement for the first time in a long time.

* * *

><p>"We're almost there. We need to stay together at all times, or else I'll be punished severely for it later."<p>

Emil and Agni rode though thick crowds of people in narrow streets, their horses picking their way carefully down many of the terraced streets filled to the brim with busy throngs of people.

Everything was as chaotic and mad when he'd first come to Istanbul, the streets rank with the stench of too many conflicting odors, sometimes a pleasant one wafting its way in. The streets were narrow and the dust soggy from the rains pouring upon the land, drizzling rain lashing against the houses interconnected inexorably together. The upper floors of the homes overhung the streets, balconies, upper floors, and jutting portions of every home creating for a noxiously claustrophobic atmosphere. Raised stairwells leading into homes sat near small doors that seemed suitable for faefolk, but were instead a grisly homage to death where bodies might be easily removed from the homes. Iron grates were fitted over many of the upper floors, no doubt intended for the privacy of the women of each home within. Clotheslines were strung between residences where cloth would dry if not for the rain. Barely a narrow strip of sky could be seen, but the darkened and dreary clouds hardly made it worthwhile to begin with.

Emil sighed. It seemed that this November day wouldn't promise much. He almost regretted coming with Agni, had the draw of the Grand Bazaar hadn't been so seductive.

Astride a gleaming white mount, he stood out like lily amid unadorned lily pads. People stopped and whispered, gently struggling past the trope of trainee Janissaries minding he and Agni's flanks, stoic in the face of gossip that rippled through the air. With his silver hair and eyes like amethyst, it wasn't hard to see why. He surmised in his mind that all nations had airs about them vastly different from that of ordinary ken, though his distinctive features served to pronounce this fact to the world for them to gander and gossip.

"Maybe it was a bad idea to come," Emil regretted, the false aura of indifference he'd forced himself to project fading quickly.

"Actually, this may be a boon for us, Izlanda. You're being here means that I'm not failing in my duties to protect you, and that I can carry out my current orders with you close by to learn. This worked out rather well," Agni countered, determined to quell any of Emil's fears regarding life outside of _Sultanhamet, _the district wherein lay the palace and all those associated with it.

Emil quirked his mouth doubtfully, then just sighing and urging his horse into a lope in order to catch up with Agni who had decided on riding ahead.

They came to halt before the entrance to the Grand Bazaar, its presence denoted by a splendid arch molded into the front of the building containing the web of shielded streets, the arch itself at least four stories high, easily wide enough for their trope and several passersby to squeeze through without much difficulty.

Emil and Agni dismounted, their mounts' reins taken by two different Janissary to be guarded until their return.

Once inside, Emil immediately felt a pulse of excitement surge through him. Within, as he tagged behind Agni, he found that a long, seemingly endless shaft separated by strips of banded stone denoting the space in between which a window was set deeply into the stone, shedding mellow streams of light that provided most of the illumination for the bazaar. Weaves of painted vines framed each plainly set window, brambles of frescoes twisting tightly below them in full bloom. Each and every section proffered this repeating design, creating an endless labyrinth of innumerable small domes rested upon their beautifully painted pillars. From the walls wove a complex array of of shops, where wares of infinite types sat upon dusty shelves or jutting stands or were displayed from shops recessed into the very walls, creating an almost beautiful conflagration of color, light, and sound, the voices of infinite customers and shopkeepers milling through the air and only adding to the cacophony for the senses. The streets were no different from that of the world outside, but even Emil could see that there was a level of upkeep the outside city never truly saw. And the place was large, the streets even wider than the narrow districts outside. The musk of spices and the clash of bodies was warm and almost comforting, though the explosive numbers of people never ceased to shock him when compared to his own modest numbers back home.

Emil gingerly wormed his way through the crush of people, wincing as he felt his swords slapping the sides of people and his legs, creating for a jarring experience until the crush lessened greatly when Agni pulled him down a fairly deserted alley nearby free from the throes of people clamoring to enter and escape the grand place.

"Are you okay?" Agni laughed, ruffling Emil's hair as the boy was doubled over from being so overwhelmed, stupidly giddy breaths escaping his lips.

"There's so many. This is still earth, isn't it?" Emil asked, sweeping away any dust from his relatively unscathed outfit.

"Of course," Agni reassured, pulling a small ream of parchment from the folds of his vest as well as a brass case containing a quill, a metallic phial of ink quickly uncorked. He sat cross legged on a random rug that littered the ground, metaphorically stabbing the heads of the shopkeepers lining the alley as he started scrawling down columns and rows of things Emil honestly could care less about.

Emil sank to a squat, the trails of his billowy kaftan fanning around him as he did, trying to act interested as Agni began the meticulous organization of whatever he was categorizing.

"I know that you're not interested, Izlanda. Stop pretending to be and go explore on your own for a bit," Agni excused, not even looking up from his work. "One of these brats will go off and follow you so don't even bother to ask a posse to follow you."

Emil quietly thanked him and set about to doing just that, taking a flank and admiring everything on display. Merchants beckoned for him, but he kindly declined, knowing that they were most likely after the _lira _lining his coin purse, already a burgeoning amount saved from years of bribes and allowances gifted to him every month by Lady Hürrem Sultan.

"You shouldn't have come, old man!" a sudden voice intruded upon his mild stupor, knocking Emil aside as a group of boys who appeared to be a little older than him circled threateningly around an elderly man in an unseen corner of the alley.

"There's a debt on your head and I intend to collect," the burliest of them growled, folding his arms while two of his men held their victim aloft by his arms, hands restrained by bonds.

Emil groaned as he rubbed his head, collecting himself and cautiously standing. His head snapped in the direction of the battery as a cry of pain sounded into the air.

The head of them pulled out a wicked looking dagger, teasing its tip of the jugular of the elderly man's throat, the man making every effort to pull back away from the threatening point.

"Please, my son, he's so ill... I need this money to buy him medicine, and then I swear that I'll work to the bone to pay you back after I find a cure for him!" the man begged, negotiating desperately.

"You still owe us for the two fishing vessels and the equipment that right now it isn't looking so good for you!" his persecutor spat back, pressing the blade threateningly enough to draw blood.

"I'm afraid that the opposite is true."

A cool blade was pressed to thick jowls, poised to slit the throat swallowing nervously beneath.

"What—"

Emil left the man no time to reply as another sword tip sprouted from the depths of the his chest, a stain of red bleeding through a mangy white top. It slid back out as quickly and sickeningly, metal grating against bone and flesh clearly heard, flecks of blood sprayed to the ground.

"_Abisi_!" the others cried, two others drawing their thinner swords in immediate thirst for revenge, their brother's body slumping to the ground in a sickening heap.

Emil braced himself as their furious onslaughts began, struggling to manipulate his own blades in order to properly defend himself. He dropped to the ground as he avoided the arc of one, only to be met with the clash of another. He sprang to his feet, sending a swift kick to one's arm and dislodging his weapon and then using both of his swords to grapple with the other. They struggled, his enemy's face broken by an ugly mask of rage, finally mustering enough strength to roughly slam Emil to the ground.

"Augh!" he screamed, feeling pain lace like poison through his arm. He tried his best to fend off his attacker, fiercely lashing out with his leg and tripping the male. Emil jumped up and smashed his sword into the man's throat, a vicious snapping signaling a crushed jugular and an ended life.

Emil scrambled for his swords and shot to his feet, goring one of the old man's captors through his ribs, both blades slicing cleanly through his ribs on opposite sides of his sternum. Through the steel, he could feel the spasm of pain and organs twisting, squelching; bone cracking and breaking. He grunted from pain as he felt his arm worsen, knowing for sure that it was broken below the elbow.

Still, he forced himself to persevere, reminding himself that he was _helga að vera _who was born as a guide and protector of his people. If he was so easily defeated here, how could he be of use to anyone else?

Three more remained, the one having been kicked down regaining himself and bearing his sword heavily upon Emil's lone one, his left arm crippled. They exchanged an inhuman speed of blows, Emil knocking him to the ground and disarming him, proceeding to stab him through the heart and ending his pain quickly.

"You monster!" one of the two left bellowed, grabbing a war hammer and smashing it into Emil's injured arm, sending him flying into the opposite wall.

Emil cried out pathetically as his head and body sickly crunched against hard stone, slumping to the ground, his body too wracked by pain to move anything except his eyes. He numbly watched as the bystanders angrily surged forward with wrathful intent as they chased the two left down, a few others to attend to Emil and the old man.

"Izlanda! Izlanda! Let me through!" Agni desperately cried, shoving his way through the crowd, the clemency of their eyes resting upon the two victims.

The boyish nation was gathered into Agni's arms like a woman, held close as he raced through the bazaar at breakneck speed.

"Agni...who were they?" Emil whispered weakly.

"Greek dissenters never having taken too kindly having their ancestral lands conquered. Don't worry about any repercussions, Emil; you did a great service by protecting that Muslim man from those savage Byzantines. We've been meaning to arrest and execute them for a long time now, but never had the proper provocation to do so. They in particular were criminals with elusive histories such as this," Agni explained hastily.

Agni barked orders to two Janissaries standing dumbly by, holding the horses steady as some civilians walked the hobbling old man to Agni's horse, helping him mount. Emil was gently held by another Janissary as Agni vaulted into the saddle of Emil's horse, then carefully taking Emil to the front where he sat sidesaddle just like all those years ago, his broken arm falling limp.

Agni urged the horse into a spirited trot while a Janissary ran counterpart to Agni's horse, the old man simply hanging on in the saddle while they made a dash back to the palace.

Emil's head was heavily trickling blood into his undershirt. "The Lady Sultan won't be pleased when she sees how I've dirtied this gift," he murmured, tucked beneath Agni's chin as the older man struggled to keep Emil from being jarred around too much.

"Do you honestly think she'll care? Emil, your life in indefinitely more valuable then some pretty painting on cloth! Right now I'm much more concerned for your condition," he retorted worriedly, jerking the reins here and there as he coerced the horse into a fast canter.

"Maybe..." Emil murmured softly, one last time before descending into the pitch of darkness.

* * *

><p>He wanted to sleep, and maybe never wake up again. He was so peaceful and warm, for no pain intruded in his mind, no distressed cry falling from his lips.<p>

"Place him down, _gently! _Allah help you fools!" a masculine voice hissed, placating protests with a swift hush.

"I've never seen _Osmaniye _like this before. Eleven years at war...praise be to Allah that he fights so fiercely and protects many of our men, but if only those infidels hadn't fought back so fiercely. It will be several days before he even wakes," the same voice said balefully.

"I think he was fine after they conquered _Butin. _It was the warpath home that it all caught up with him. He did drink plenty of _boza, _so it helped alleviate the pain after each battle. However, liquor can't cure him this time. He'll heal much more quickly than normal men, but needs sleep. Come, we've many other soldiers to attend to." There was a brief staccato of footsteps on the stone floors, then the sound of doors closing resoundingly behind.

Emil gingerly opened his eyes, groaning as the stiffness of several days of rest manifested as a heavy stiffness weighing his body. He forced himself to sit up, wincing as pain sourcing from his head and broken arm surged through his body.

He wearily stood, overcome at who he saw in the bed next to him.

Dressed only in baggy white pants, Sadik lay in repose, his breathing heavy and labored. Bandages were tightly wound around his torso, abdomen, and calves, as well as many places upon his arms. Ugly bruises marred skin uncovered, as well as the scars of old wounds white upon his darkly tanned skin. Even through the bandages, he heavily bled

Emil stood stock still, his eyes slowly filling with tears. His heart thudded into his throat, stomach twisted by fear and a sudden uprising of apprehension. His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, shaking his head as tears poured over.

The edge of their beds were low, close to the ground. Emil raised his head as he numbly gazed at Sadik, a hand trembling as he reached out to touch Sadik's arm. He retracted it quickly as it came into contact, sure for now that this wasn't some dream conjured from a wish deep in his heart.

"If they're right, Sadik, then you've been gone for eleven years," Emil choked out, "fighting in wars."

"I-I know that maybe I shouldn't even be talking, since I'll probably bother you...but, I missed you so much. I can't tell you how many times I dreaded hearing news, that maybe...you were dead. I had nightmares, Sadik, of you returning here in a coffin," he confessed, wiping away his tears on the inner sleeve of his temporary hospital robe, all of his clothing slung over simple furniture pieces.

"I'm not...ever going to...return here in a coffin."

Emil shot straight, hurriedly leaning over Sadik's bed, hovering over his face covered as it had been when the man had left. "Sadik? Sadik!" he cried in a panicked voice.

"Hey, calm down. I'm here, Emil. I'm here..." Sadik tenderly soothed, lifting a hand to stroke Emil's cheek, causing the boy to blush amid his tears.

"Sit down on the edge. It's hard to see you when my neck hurts so much." Emil immediately did as he was told.

Emil tried to speak, to make light conversation in lieu of Sadik's eleven year absence. He wanted to calm himself, but all he could do was cry, voice escaping as pathetic whimpers. He fiercely scrubbed away the tears with his good hand.

He suddenly felt a hand on his back that brought him gently against Sadik's chest, another slowly winding its way to hold his head. Emil could hear the man's heart beating strong and true into his ear.

"You don't have to be sad anymore, Emil. This war is over, and so is the nightmare. I'm here, and I swear that I won't leave you ever again."

* * *

><p>Last thoughts: -epic feac of derp- So, how did you guys like this chapter?<p>

I guess you're probably wondering why I made the story skip, amirite? Well, to begin, I mean for this story to be pretty long. Not ridiculously so, but in terms of time and whatnot, this story will end in the modern day in the neighborhood of the 20th century or so. Which means that there's easily going to be 400 years of story. Now, obviously there's going to be a lot of time in-between where not a lot will happen and Sadik and Emil will be separated. Or, as with this chapter, there will be war that will kinda thwart the peace, political upheaval, family drama, and that basket of kittens. There's basically going to be a lot of interruptions that will keep this from being a big bottle of fluff, just so I can deliver the "reality" I promised from chapter one. I intend for this to be a story to take TurkIce places they thought they'd never go, and I want this to be as meaningful as I can make it.

In relation to the story plot line, I think it's in canon that Turkiye did have feelings for Ancient Greece, and I'm pretty sure it was mentioned it in the Hetalia Wiki, but unfortunately, it's now a crappy shell of its glorious self, so don't rely on it. The ShoutWiki variation truly was awesome, but it died for some reason... Anyway, I felt like incorporating it in as a back story in hopes of offering an explanation as to why Greece hates Turkiye (not that I'm complaining, TurkIce ftw!) as well as adding some material for a future story arc. I can say that the first arc is over and that a new one will begin, and with it there will be a lot of development into TurkIce's relationship, internal drama between certain nations and themselves, as well as strife in the guise of wars and whatnot. I want to try to develop the story at a nice, moderate pace without turning it into a textbook on history (which I feared could've happened if elaborated too much on Ottoman life). As for the wars Turk had embarked on in the beginning of the chapter, there were about four campaigns, the last being the conquering of Hungary (known as _Butin _at the time) in 1541 (in this story, Turk was the only one who came back; I'll make Suleiman come back in a few months or so). So, it's been eleven years since Ice came to Istanbul...and yet, he's going to be there for a looooong time.

In terms of OCs, besides Agni and the 'extras', I really don't plan on creating any more. If anything, you will be seeing more historical figures weave their way into the story and add to it, as well as headcanon working its way through there, too.

Oh, and as a shoutout to Aisurando-APH, the Turks called Constantinople, Istanbul once they settled to area. Europeans meanly referred to it as Constantinople for awhile until the Turks really cemented their place there. At the present moment in time, most referred to it as Constantinople, but since Emil doesn't know that yet, I'll keep it as Istanbul to him until certain Europeans come in and crash the party. XD

~Peace, G.


	4. Stolen

As If

_Stolen_

(Warnings: TurkIce, AU, T, historical WUT, Greece, a kidnapping, some violence)

* * *

><p>A breath was taken in and held, the nocked arrow swiftly poised to shoot, the limbs of the bow stirring no peace as a grazing deer obliviously continued on in its foraging. Perched within the upper boughs of a grand old tree with spiraling limbs that dawned outwards, he felt like a hawk mustering itself for the attack.<p>

He was stock-still as the bow recoiled, barely upsetting his precarious place amid the engorged branches. The deer cried its last as the arrow struck home, collapsing to the dappled earth of the forest to meet a swift death. A few birds scattered noisily through the trees, trilling and cawing at the sudden usurpation of peace.

Emil pulled his bow over his shoulder to rest across his back and chest before dropping to the ground adroitly, watching as Agni emerged from the shadow of a nearby tree to collect the carcass. "A fine kill, Emil. I think this may be your best yet," Agni called, hauling the fairly small creature over his brawny shoulders. "It can't be eaten by us, but it will make for suitable sustenance for the dogs."

The young nation strode over to Agni through the fairly sparse underbrush, finding where the arrow had struck and quickly yanking it out. He squatted to wipe it clean against the undergrowth, then returning it among his fletcher of arrows. "I'm not that talented, Agni. I still prefer fishing," Emil smiled wryly. "So, how are you holding up on the first day of Ramadan?"

Agni just chuckled to himself. "Oh, I'm just trying not to remind myself that you're exempt and can eat before me while I watch on in slight envy. Otherwise, I think I'm coming along well."

Emil smiled, poking out his tongue with playful spitefulness. "I could, but I'm not. I want to fast, too. That's why I skipped my midday meal, not that it offended anyone. I think that the Lady Hurrem Sultan looked rather pleased."

Agni shifted the deer slightly in place as they began to make a leave from the steamy breath of the summer forest. Dappled shadows played through the entwining branches above, sunlight pooling on the ground and filtering through warm jade mantles of green. "If that is the case, I'd like to have you for _Iftar _this evening after sundown. They won't be expecting you for a feast tonight, will they?" Agni broached, now treading on rather soft grounds.

"Ah...I suppose they may. Oh, what's a little adventure? I exiled myself from normal life for eleven years. What's a night of fun?" Emil figured, youthful machinations at work within his mind.

Agni laughed. "Even with Osmaniye breathing down your neck? I don't think he'll take to kindly to that."

Emil was suddenly quiet, increasing his pace as he picked through ahead. Agni could see that he was troubled. "Emil, what is it?"

The boy sighed, his shoulders slumping and his head low, stopping. "Sadik's been busy with internal affairs for months. He's been gone since November, after he took a week to heal post-war. It's been half a year, Agni..."

Agni just sighed and put a hand around Emil's shoulders. "For someone like him, things like this are simply inevitable. I'm sure that you'll see him very soon," Agni cheered, smiling. "Why don't you come with me and visit my family? I'm sure that my wife and children would love to have you."

"Wait, you're married?" he asked, interest glittering in his eyes.

"When you chose me to be your guard, and I was thenceforth officially appointed, I shed my Janissary self and was allowed new freedoms, one being that I would be allowed to take on a wife. Well, I did about seven years ago, and I wed myself to a Romani woman who converted to Islam when I asked her to. She was _kitaabi_, a woman of the Book, a former Christian like me. We have had seven children together so far, and she's pregnant again," Agni replied with a strong suit of pride in his voice.

Emil smiled. "Large families are very happy places," he admitted, glowing at the thought of the children he'd befriended through the years.

"Emil, I am very grateful for you being delivered into my life by Allah. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have found my beautiful wife and had my blessed children. I'd like to include you as a member of my family, if you'd like," Agni proposed, smiling, "and I'd like you to join it as my brother and uncle to my children."

"Agni, I'd be honored," Emil choked out, feeling tears bead in his eyes. "You've cared for me all these years and you've been my friend for so long. I feel like I owe you."

"Alright, then come and visit us. That's all the recompense I desire from you," Agni smiled warmly, tightening his hold around the boy's shoulders slightly.

"Come, let's deliver this deer to the where the dogs are, then we'll sneak out. Emil, you really have no idea how honored I am. This means more to me than you'll ever know."

* * *

><p>Sneaking out of the palace proved to be easier than preconceived. Agni and Emil couldn't re-enter the inner courtyard of the palace, the hunting grounds sanctioned within the outer, to allow Emil a chance to change out of the formal clothes gifted to him by Suleiman's wife. So, he forsook changing and the two dared blowing their cover. Luckily, they were leaving during afternoon prayers, which although was blasphemous for Agni at least, it was their only opportunity to make their escape.<p>

Emil giddily laughed as he and Agni race astride two handsome galloping horses, the staccato of dual equine hoof-beats falling resoundingly through his mind as their daring wager made his heart beat strongly. As they spirited away, he couldn't help but feel a tang of guilt at the thought of abandoning the palace when he was sure that the Sultan would be expecting him at the evening's Iftar. He just prayed that he wouldn't be insulting them. But, at the same time, the need to free himself from the palace confines weighed equally upon his chest.

"Right now, I am a Christian man again," Agni laughed as they cleared the final gate void of guards. Both slowed their mounts to a canter, both horses somewhat winded from the long drive out of the palace.

"Infidel," Emil accused teasingly. They steered the horses towards the shores of the Bosphorous, urging them once more into a gallop as they raced along the high perimeter of Topkapi's whitewashed battlements.

The sun shone harshly, heat bearing upon his brow, crowning the world in blinding tones at almost hurt to look at. Trees whispered songs of the sea as tangy winds skimming over the waters of the Bosphorous raced against them, streaming fast their faces. The sky was a peerless turquoise with few clouds sculling along in the pleasant breezes of above and below.

Emil's face warmed in comfort as the resplendent city around him veered past, reminding him that he really did feel at peace here.

They slowed the winded horses to a walk as they mounted a high terrace carved into the sloping city, hardly a soul traversing the streets. Lanterns arced above them beautifully, glass splintering the light like stained glass windows, blooms of temptingly delicate light permeating many avenues of the streets. The waves of the Bosphorous lapped hungrily to the shore, the scent of a crisp sea and of treasures from different worlds lifting into the air. A slight rising barricade of concrete rose to deter wandering into the waters, several docks and wooden ports striking irregularly into the broad strait of water. Several ships and small vessels alike were moored by anchor and tethered to posts, some clustered densely together while many of the ships were proudly restive and segregated. Many buildings highlighted along the shore, many being irregular residencies, much of the space seized by the semi-palaces of important officials and the wealthy.

Agni gestured for Emil to stop as they came to a somewhat decrepit little dock where a few dinghies and clippers were moored, bobbing listlessly in the calm motion of the strait. Both dismounted, Agni taking the reins of Emil's as the boyish nation dismounted.

"We're not just going are to leave them here, right?" Emil chirped up, Agni turning to face him.

Agni whistled and signed to a guard standing post, the man rushing over and subsequently bowing deeply towards Emil. "Take these horses back to the palace. Make sure that they are properly stabled before returning to your post," he ordered curtly, dismissively handing the younger guard the reins.

As the Emil watched the guard's retreating back, he couldn't help but ask, "Who was he? Why isn't he praying? Aren't all Janissary Muslims?"

"I specially requested for a league of Janissary trainees not to be converted until after the very last day of Ramadan, as to ensure that our men can still fully participate with the celebrations and prayer without shirking from their religious duties or official obligations. Through celebrating, they have a constant presence that normally deters any insurrections or the like. It's working out rather well as has for the last few years. Alright, why don't we get going?" Agni smiled encouragingly, stepping down once to proceed down the old wooden dock. Emil soon followed suit.

They came to a small dinghy with a small mast and a tightly swaddled sail bound fast to it. Agni leaped into the boat and began unfurling the sail and its supports, adjusting things here and there within the modest vessel. Emil watched on in interest, never really having partaken in true sailing in the past, his expertise solely being the art of fishing. As Agni finished, he steadied the small craft and offered a hand which Emil took, gently maneuvering him to a comfortable place near the nose of the small craft.

"Where did you get this boat?" Emil asked, warily glancing around and making sure that the owner wouldn't storm up to them, had it belonged to someone else.

"Do you remember the man you rescued last year? He was the owner of several schooners in a small fishing operation, which seemed to be indebted to those Byzantine bastards. The Sultan took pity on him and freed him of his debt, in return for him selling his services as a fisherman who the palace. In the arrangement, he was given a few small crafts like this one that he had absolutely no need for. When I mentioned you to him a few months later, he immediately decided to gift you one as recompense. This is yours, Emil, and we're going to use it from now one to travel to the other districts." Agni grinned, the boat lurching as he shoved off, wind picking up the single sail and beginning to swiftly carry them over the water.

Emil looked alarmed. "He didn't have to! Agni, after tonight, I'm going to find him. I don't deserve this... He should take it back."

Agni just broke out into laughter. "You're too modest, Emil. You should learn to live with the fact that you're treasured company here. And you'll keep this craft, is that understood? Besides, it's convenient now that I don't have to hitch a ride from one of the water taxis that are quite expensive when I must return home on the weekends."

"Then you should have it, Agni. You'll probably get more use out of this than I ever will, anyway."

Agni shook his head. "What happened to your passion in fishing? I thought that you wanted to learn techniques from local fisherman. By Allah, when will you understand that your presence here is wanted? You're now my brother, and the Lady Hurrem Sultan has even honored you by entitling you as a son. You're much more than the scholar you originally set out to be; Istanbul is your home, and here you have family. And you've made many people happy since you've arrived," Agni explained, gazing at Emil in earnest..

"I know...that's why I'm so afraid, Agni. I truly like it here, and it really does feel like home, but I have to get back to my real home. As soon as I'm no longer needed here and I've learned all I can, I'm returning. I'll fight my brothers. I just can't abandon my people. I'll start over, begin the cycle anew and strengthen all that I can. I honestly feel like I'm betraying them by being here, building too many attachments that will make it impossible to leave," Emil confessed, hunkering low as he began to tremble. "I might not want to leave."

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, but looking up he could see Agni's softened expression. "No matter where your heart takes you, you'll always have a place here, Emil. Wherever you go, know that you can return here. That's all that matters."

Their conversation abruptly ended, and Agni sat closer to the stern, hand steadying the boat by its tiller. Emil moved towards the bow, leaning precariously on its starboard side, skimming his fingers through the water, occasionally splashed by an indignant wave whenever one was crested. He lost himself in his thoughts, the glare of the sun ad the repetitive motions and forms of the waves soon lulling him into a restive sleep.

* * *

><p>"<em>Amca<em>!"

Emil laughed as he stooped down to embrace Agni's oldest, a five year old blonde-haired boy named Sven. The boy hid bashfully from Emil as the boy's younger brothers and sisters, four between the ages of four and three toddled up to the nation, each clamoring for his attentions.

"Now, now, don't be too pushy with your uncle," Aishe, their mother, called out. Dressed fully in a burqa of a plain jade, seemingly typical of a woman of lower class yet nonetheless proper, it seemed that she was allowed more freedoms than Muslim women within the city in that she wasn't cloistered within a harem, or the female's sanctuary within a home that no man but the head of the household could trespass.

Emil smiled, calling, "It's okay! I've got it all under—" while being tugged left to right by the hem of a plain kaftan, his more elaborate one in storage back at the palace, all of his clothes fairly proletarian and didn't denote his class. He let loose a strangled laugh as they all pulled him to the ground, heaping on and cackling in squeaky voices.

He struggled to pull himself upwards, coming face to face with one of the three girls, one of the four that Agni and Aishe had adopted when she'd been an infant. "Drina, do you suppose you can help me up?"

"Okay!" she squealed. Bouncing up and shooing away the others, Emil was finally able to get up, huffing with a smile on his face.

"Since we've had Iftar, why don't we play with the fireworks?" Agni asked, crouched down with a grin on his face, Drina and Sven colliding into his arms. Agni lifted them and began dancing, singing a folk song that the children screamed along to.

The second oldest, an adopted African boy with skin like rich chocolate, named Ion was pulled up by Emil and the two did the same. Ion's younger sister, Luminista, joined in as well and the other children clamored around Agni and Emil as the two began dancing in unison, their songs matching.

Aishe bubbled with laughter, running towards them and being pulled forward by the remaining three. They joined in a circle with their mother, all of them singing along.

Emil soon became dizzy and sank to his knees, still holding Ion and Luminista close. "Ah, I'm sorry, but amca is tired. Why don't we play with fireworks?" he asked, the two African children embracing him tightly around the neck, giggling in a way that made him glow with happiness.

Agni let Drina and Sven down, the two rushing to Emil and cuddling close to him as well as Ion and Luminista. The others did the same with their mother, Aishe sitting close to Emil as they attentively watched Agni fiddle with the fireworks stacked near the shore of the Marmara.

Emil dazed gazed over the horizon, smiling as he rested his head against a slightly drowzy Ion. The sea of the Marmara was completely silent, and the far-off lights of Istanbul illuminated the place like a star, the palace on the Golden Horn ignited by multitudes of lanterns. The sea was drawn with the long stretches of those lights, the starry sky above and the ribbon-like path of the Milky Way arcing across it. Countless stars and constellations seemed like diamonds glittering, galaxies spiraling in their far-off glory. He felt slightly guilty at abandoning the palace without permission, but he was so happy that he couldn't care less.

Suddenly, Agni fled the shore and sat in between Emil and Aishe, taking their youngest, another adopted African boy named Harman, into his arms and cradling him, whispering to him about the fireworks which made the boy open his sleepy eyes.

"Ion, Luminista; look," Emil gently whispered, the two stirring and smiling as the fireworks before them fizzled at the tip. Suddenly, a salvo of them shot off and launched into the sky, thunderous blooms of color and light spreading into the night sky.

The children all sat bolt upright, and the child on Agni's lap was gently deposited to Emil's, and then the man ran back to the fireworks to prepare even more dazzling displays.

This continued for what felt like a few hours, Emil and his new nieces and nephews applauded and cheering after each round. Soon, the fireworks became as exhausted as the children, and they knew that it was time for the children to sleep.

Aishe, he, and Agni carried two children each, Sven stubbornly clasped to Emil's kaftan and tottering sleepily alongside. They all quietly entered the single-room home, Aishe having set up bed mats and their sheets hours ago. They were placed throughout the home, all to accommodate for their many children as well as the newest addition.

Emil helped lay each sleeping child down, lovingly covering them with their sheets and tucking them in. After all children were lain to rest, Aishe pulled a long curtain between them, wishing Agni and Emil and good night before turning in herself.

The two of them then left the home, returning outdoors, laying down to stargaze.

"I think that today has been the best day I've ever experienced here," Emil sighed, his stiff body finally relaxing after hours of play with the children.

"They really love you, Emil. All of them. Do you see now that none of this would've been real if you hadn't appointed me as your personal guard all those years ago?" Agni flipped to his side, facing Emil who laid on his back.

"I guess so. And the fact that you've taken in so many children not even borne of you is heartwarming," Emil said, eyes adrift among the stars.

"I do it because I love Allah. I do it because we are all His children. But above all else, I do it because it fills me with gladness."

"And now you've got a sacred dhimmi as a brother. Strange, isn't it?" Emil laughed, pulling himself up and gathering his knees to his chin.

"Not at all. To be entirely honest, I'm wondering how everyone will react to it," Agni admitted, doing the same, propping himself up.

"Well, you didn't force me into anything. You just gave me a splendid offer, and I took it."

Agni straightened up a little. "I only hope, Emil..." he murmured, then standing. "I'm going to sleep now, but come in whenever you like."

"Good night," Emil threw over his shoulder, then returning to face the stars.

Something on the water looked rather odd. Emil squinted, watching as a ghostly light like a lantern dipped and weaved over the waves. He stood, running to the shore, thinking that it could be a stranded crew on a boat or ship seeking safe harbor.

Emil ran to where the spent fireworks were, rifling among them until he found the torch that Agni had used to both guide his movements and light each of the fuses. Seeing that use could still be procured, he hastily found flint within his pocket and began to urgently scrap a random rock from the ground against, until the friction that created sparks was enough to ignite the torch.

"Yes!" Emil breathed when it did, then rushing back to shore and frantically waving the torch for the derelict sailors afar to see.

Suddenly, the lantern disappeared, much to Emil's bemusement. "Where did it go?"

"Agh!" Emil screamed, the searing pain of a blade, a projectile, _something_, pierced his right shoulder, sending him colliding to the ground. His unscathed hand trembled to where he felt the shaft of an arrow jutting deeply from his shoulder, swearing he could feel the head just barely piercing through the opposite side.

He numbly tried to pull it free, but every attempt only brought more pain. "Agni! Help me!" he screamed as loudly as he could, dully realizing that the house was too far away for his voice to project as far as it should've.

Tears beaded in his eyes. "Sadik, help me. Please, please..." he whimpered, feeling his consciousness slip away.

Then, like the night sky, everything faded to black.

* * *

><p>"Είναι ξύπνιος."<p>

"Σταθείτε στην άκρη," another voice cut in, the sound of scuffling footsteps of one being pushed aside.

"Are you awake?" a voice asked in Turkish, noticeably younger.

Emil groaned, pain meeting his mind immediately. His cheek was pressed against the splintered wood of the ground, seawater sucking his cheek, hair draped around his face.

He whimpered again as his injured shoulder was turned, crying out in pain. The man handling him had turned him with his foot, unmerciful at first. "Hm. It seems you injured him more than I had planned. What happened to assaulting him on shore without it coming to this?" the man hissed, his voice taking on a venomous edge.

"He'd been with a family. The tip of the arrow carried a sedative so that despite the pain, he'd go down quickly. Couldn't have him screaming for help the whole time," another gruffly replied.

"Heracles, you do realize that if we'd attacked Istanbul, we'd have a bloody army to deal with? My men worked hard to track him and his bloody guard. Better this than risking our lives."

"The lot of you, honestly..." A hand turned Emil on his back, his hair falling away from his face. "By the gods, it seems that we've chanced on something luckier than originally intended."

"I'll be damned...looks like Aphrodite blessed this one heartily. Never know; he could be an incarnation borne like you, Heracles."

Emil wrenched open his eyes, and flew upwards, glaring venomously at his captors. He tried to scuttle backwards a bit, but found that his hands and feet were tightly bound. "Where am I? What is this place?" he screeched hoarsely, willing the pain to allow him enough clarity to overcome his aggressors.

A man dressed in loose, foreign clothing knelt by him, the one who had surveyed him a moment ago. His hair was loose and wavy and feel past the nape of his neck, a common light chestnut starkly compared to his light green eyes. His handsome face was dully drawn, as if from sleep deprivation.

"You're our hostage," he replied bluntly, "and will soon be a central figure to your mentor's demise."

"What?" Emil cracked, his courage draining immediately away.

"This isn't the place to speak of this," the green-haired man sighed. He stooped close to Emil and lifted him in his arms, sweeping him away from the crew and into his private quarters.

The door was closed shut behind him, and the man lowered Emil on to a roughly made cot, then taking a stool and sitting before him. A wave of deja vu settled over him, and he swallowed nervously.

"Answer my questions," Emil demanded, glaring through the pain. "What do you want with me?"

The man before him pierced him straight through the eye. "My name is Heracles Karpusi, and I'm the son of the one that Sadik murdered almost a thousand years ago."

Emil stared point blank, the words falling from his lips. "You're the nation of Greece, aren't you?"

"Yes, although I am now slave to that monster," Heracles clarified bitterly, "and yet he seems to live as though he doesn't expect retribution from me."

Emil's expression became worried and urgent. "He didn't murder her, Heracles! He had no choice... She wanted death. She was too stricken by the loss all that she was that she couldn't take it anymore!" he pleaded, seeing the anger set in Heracle's features.

"How would you know? You didn't even exist then! I saw it, and I know what he did!" Heracles spat back, the torment of that day cycling cruelly through his mind.

Emil lowered his head, unable to defend Sadik against an assault like that. "Then why am I here? What do you want with me?" he asked again, nausea beginning to overtake him, the loss of blood steadily weakening him.

Heracles eyes were fixed on the ground. "I'm going to make him suffer the anguish that I went through. You're precious to him; that much is known. Ισλανδία, I am going to kill you before him, so that he may taste the torture that boils my blood with rage to this day," he replied lowly, eyes cold when he lifted his head to stare unmercifully into Emil's.

He felt all of the life drain from him, the pain receding into nothingness as Heracles's words bled through his heart and struck his soul.

"W-What? No, you can't do that..." Emil struggled, feeling tears build up in his eyes. He began to tremble, the world surrendering to his tears that stained his vision.

"It's the only way. When you die, another will take your place. No one can live forever."

"Please! There must be another way! You can't let this hatred consume you! You have to forgive him, Heracles, please!" Emil begged, tumbling from the bed to prostrate pitifully at Heracles's feet.

"It's too late. I'd rather be condemned to the Underworld in the afterlife knowing I avenged my mother, rather than live on unfulfilled to the oath I swore on that day," Heracles whispered, standing.

"Heracles, I swear, I'll do anything else! Please!"

"Would you kill him? Let the blade of betrayal feast on his rotten flesh?" Heracles bit back hollow laughs. "You can't do it, Emil. You've grown too fond of him, and through that it made both of you vulnerable. If you sought to live another day, you never should have come here."

"Please, Heracles...I have brothers. I can't die. Don't you understand?" Emil supplicated tearfully.

A hand caressed along his jawline. "Of course I do. That is why you must die for my mother's memory. But, don't worry. I've sent envoys disguised as guards, and are sending word of your abduction as we speak. Take comfort in the fact that you'll at least get to die before his eyes. Then, he'll truly understand," Heracles explained with a soulless look to his face.

Heracles then turned his back to Emil and left the room, leaving the boy entirely alone.

And so, he wept.

"Sadik...please, don't come. Please..."

* * *

><p>He didn't know how long it'd been since they came to the deserted island. Maybe days, a week, a month. Nothing felt real.<p>

His body was drugged, and his mind wandered in and out of consciousness, eyes slipping over the craggy terrain surrounding him, the copse of trees that Heracles was now guarding him in.

The wispy trees around him could barely be called trees, and yet they provided shade from the sting of the heat warming the uneven terrain around them, rocks and pebbles poking out from the sandy ground. The single hill that dotted the island crested high above the Marmara, the pure emerald waters reflecting the path of the sun on the horizon, Turkish horizons on the skyline. Shrubs and many tufts of dry grasses clung to the nearly barren ground, occasional desert flowers in flowers blooming in desolate pockets.

Heracles was seated upright, not too far from where Emil lay. He was in deep contemplation on the ocean, forever mired within those eternal waves.

"You know, this area used to be part of my mother's empire. She ruled much of the world. She was strong, and beautiful. After she fell, Roma filled the void she left behind. When he was gone, that bastard came and consumed everything into a soulless void. Nothing feels the way it did. He stole away all of the warmth," Heracles thought aloud, eyes never leaving their place.

Emil could say nothing, his head heavy and his thoughts thick with weightlessness.

"Heracles!" a voice thundered, booming through Emil's opaque mind. Tears formed in his eyes again, spilling over heavily.

He numbly felt himself being hefted by one arm over Heracles's shoulder, the man holding a sword in the other. Heracles carefully picked his way down the slope, feet clinging for purchase on the uneven surface.

"Heracles! Release him at once!" Sadik roared, brandishing his scimitar in Heracles direction, training it threateningly on the younger Mediterranean nation.

Heracles calmly lowered Emil, holding the boy by the nape of his kaftan, his own blade pressed to the boy's throat, dangerously close. "Ah, I'm glad that you could make it, bastard," he greeted with false pleasantries, lifting Emil's head slightly with that sword.

"You don't know what you're doing, Heracles. You don't need to resort to this!"

"You didn't need to murder my mother, either," Heracles rejoined with a rather melancholic sarcasm. A flick of his wrist, and a stream of blood was drawn from pale skin.

That blade was forced to defend as Sadik dealt a savage blow upon Heracles, Emil being dropped to the earth harshly as Heracles parried the blow. Sadik and Heracles locked blades together, sparks flying from the intense friction.

"How many times must I tell you this? I loved her, Heracles! Why on earth would I want to kill her?" Sadik cried hoarsely, gritting his teeth as Heracles applied fiercer pressure.

"You're a bloodthirsty monster who aspired to treachery and control! You betrayed her!" Heracles screamed in defiance, dislodging his weapon and unleashing a ferocious serious of attacks. "Her blood stains your hands!"

Sadik sidestepped as Heracles blindly clubbed the ground, the younger one then feinting and darting in a fashion that he was able to intercede on Sadik's blind side and slash his blade against the older nation's leg.

The Turk howled in pain, that cry diffusing into a growl that ripped from his throat as he set loose an arcing move that forced Heracles to leap back, almost completely unfazed.

Heracles surged forward and slashed down heavily, clipping Sadik's scimitar and almost knocking it from his hands. In that moment of weakness, he was able land another blow to Sadik's calf.

Sadik growled deeply and forced himself to press on, their blades glancing off the other with widespread ringing sounds, realizing that they were almost too evenly matched.

Heracles ducked as the scimitar sailed over his head, thrusting the sword forward as it nearly lanced Sadik through, the man veering away. Sadik feinted, finally landing a hit to the younger's flank, just barely drawing blood.

Emil forced his eyes to open, craning his head as he saw Sadik and Heracles brutally fighting each other, seeming to last for hours in his muddled mind. His fingers twitched and his hands began to regain their feeling, a current of electricity surging through his arm. An opportune stone, sharp like a serrated knife, seemed like an allowable way to freedom.

And yet, he felt the bounds on his hands greatly loosen, fingers smartly uncoiling them. Soon those came free and fell to the ground, and it seemed that untying those ropes binding his feet together would be no difficult task.

"You think you're so high and mighty," Heracles scoffed, Sadik at sword point, the scimitar having been knocked away. Sadik was desperately tired, his strength drained from the prior years of war.

The Ottoman knelt to the earth, panting heavily. He continued to glare, but knew that Heracles was now free to slay him asunder at any moment.

"How fitting this is. I'll be able to avenge my mother's death the same way you robbed her of it."

Sadik gazed up in dogged defeat, then seeing that Heracles eyes were wide. A small pair of hands were clenched around the hilt of Heracles's own shiv, now dug as deeply as he could bury the small blade in the Greek's shoulder.

Heracles crumpled to the ground, driven to his knees.

"If you dare touch him, I swear to God I'll kill you!" Emil threatened, limping before Sadik, staggering to hold the Greek's sword as it weighed upon his hands like lead. His breathing was heavy, and the barely healing wound in his shoulder was torn open and bleeding heavily through his clothing.

Tears spilled from his eyes, and Heracles was speechless, only able to gap in wonder at how Emil had overcome such a potent drug. The Greek nation stood, weakly murmuring, "It seems that I was not meant for revenge on this day. Mark my words: this isn't the last you'll see of me."

Emil possessively stood his ground before Heracles until the older nation was able to stand, making a desperate retreat for the hills where he disappeared completely from sight.

The young Nordic's knees buckled. "Emil!" Sadik cried in alarm, catching the nearly despondent nation in his arms. Emil was trembling, but felt himself relax once he was in Sadik's arms after months of being away from him.

Sadik drew the boy towards his chest, the younger form partially draped over his lap.

Emil struggled to keep his eyes open, even as more tears flooded them. "I'd rather die then see you hurt ever again. I can't bear to see you like this," Emil whispered above the sea breezes, turning and wrapping his arms around Sadik's neck, burying his face in Sadik's shoulder.

Sadik returned the embrace around Emil's narrow back, holding him as close as he could. "I'm so sorry, Emil. I swear by Allah that I'll never let anything like this befall you again," he vowed vehemently, which only served to tighten his embrace.

Emil pulled away, giving Sadik a mournful look that wrenched the man's heart. "You're always away, Sadik, and you're never there when I need you most," he replied sadly, his voice so weak and pitiful.

"What can I do to show my devotion?"

Emil shook his head. "I don't know. You're an empire, Sadik. You'll always be beyond my reach."

Slowly, Sadik released Emil, but not for the reasons Emil believed. And yet, his heart lurched into his throat, becoming pronounced, as Sadik removed his turban. Then, the headdress, laid aside. And finally, the black covering. All that remained was the mask.

Emil's eyes widened as he gazed on the man he'd never truly seen before. His face was slightly narrow and tapered, skin dark like one who had seen many heated days, his hair short and spiky, a lovely chestnut color. His features were masculine, a beard peppering along his jaw and thin sideburns.

Sadik stroked the side of Emil's cheek, their faces barely inches apart. "I want you to remove my mask," he requested tenderly, his hand moving to Emil's hair, beginning to stroke it.

The Nordic remembered the promise Sadik had sworn, and his face became reddened, but not by shame.

With trembling fingers, he somehow managed to find the ties holding the mask in place, Sadik closing his eyes in peaceful anticipation. Emil was barely able to untie the mask, but when he removed it finally, those golden eyes warm as honey that opened at long last struck through his heart like intense lightning.

Sadik smiled faintly, then planted a warm, slow kiss on Emil's lips, arms cradling the boy close. Emil threw his arms around Sadik's neck, which seemed to only encourage deeper contact.

They finally withdrew, a final kiss parted on Emil's cheek as they drew away. Emil nestled his head under the crook of Sadik's jawline, the older man canting his head to rest his cheek against the crown of Emil's head, chuckling softly.

"I'm glad we finally understand each other, boy," Sadik whispered, briefly kissing his hair. "This way, I'll be yours forever."

"I don't understand. Why me?" Emil stuttered out, his heart beating too heavily for him to even think straight. "I thought you still loved...her."

"I just fell in love with you, boy. I suppose I just wanted to protect you and be like a mentor, at first, but then I began to yearn for you during those long years at war. I don't think that you realize how irresistible you are," Sadik teased, a hand moving to the boy's waist.

"Agni mentioned that it might be because I look so feminine," Emil suggested grudgingly, tongue-in-cheek.

"That's only a facet on the jewel. Though, I might add that you're very beautiful," Sadik murmured huskily, nuzzling Emil's hair.

Emil was silent for a moment. "But what of Heracles? Sadik, don't put me through this again. Don't let me live in ignorance. I never want to see you endure this again," he pleaded, drawing away and gazing into Sadik's eyes. Emil pushed himself away, standing. The pain from his wound was starting to return, and it was difficult to keep it in check.

Sadik instantly rose, pain eating away at him as well. He circled his arms around Emil's shoulders from behind, saying, "Words can't describe the sorrow I feel. I know that I've been grossly inattentive, but you must understand that Suleiman has a duty to my empire and to Islam. And I have fealty to him, my people, and to Allah. But, Emil, I have you as well. I can't just choose whom I wish to serve whenever I please. I must divide myself equally for the security of all."

"There have been whisperings of a renewed campaign not in Buda, but Gran, within close proximity. You'll be going to war very soon, Sadik," Emil replied dully.

The arms around his shoulders tightened. "Emil, please, don't paint me as the villain. You know that this things are beyond my control."

"Why don't you take me with you? I may be young for a nation, but I've fought in battles before. And besides, my people are Nords, vikings. We're warriors through and through," Emil stipulated, beginning to smile. "I'll fight alongside you, I swear."

Sadik nuzzled his face into Emil's neck, kissing it briefly. "I can ask the Sultan. Emil, know that if Heracles or anyone else dares threaten you like this again, I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."

Emil turned around, hands pulling down the taller man's face. "I know," he murmured, bringing their lips together tenderly.

Deep in their hearts, they knew that the fires of war and only started.

* * *

><p>Last thoughts: Finally<em>Finally<em>**Finally!** I was really itching to finally get in a romantic moment with these two. And, just for the record, the story isn't over. Nope, it's faaaar from over. Hell, it probably won't end until the 20th century, and I know that there will be continuity even after Turk becomes a republic. I want Icy to be there as much as possible.

In terms of where the story is history-wise, it's 1542, in the month of Ramadan in the month of July, since I'm kind of just bulling the pace of the Islamic calender, since I'm not really sure if the Roman calender as it exists today was true for medieval Europe. The next campaign of Suleiman took place in Gran, or another part of Hungary, about a year later that began in May. I'm thinking that Icy will be a part of that campaign since I think that I'm kind of rusty describing war scenes since it's been so long.

Plot-wise, obviously you've been introduced to Heracles (Greece) who has just become an official antagonist of the series. Icy's family will probably be stepping in sooner or later, and there's also the normal flow of history that will play a central part in upcoming chapters. I'm not going to reveal anything else, but know that Icy and Turk will become a lot closer as an outcome of the story~

A little TurkIce tidbit I feel like throwing in has to do with their geography: if you've seen a full scale map of Europe, it'll probably come to your attention that Turkiye is well-known for being the nation farthest southeast of Europe (I'm not counting Russia...) and that Iceland is the nation farthest to the northwest. I just thought it might be interesting to include the dichotomy of the two of them, since I think that little headcanon factoids like these make them seem closer together~

Ah, I'll stop blabbering now. A new chapter will be released shortly, but know that I've got other stories to update and requests to fill, so please look forward to it~

~Peace, G.


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